


Bright

by NatureThing



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Abuse, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gore, Horror, LGBTQ Character, Language, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2020-07-09 21:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 63,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19894729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatureThing/pseuds/NatureThing
Summary: Is it possible for someone to control their fate, or is it in the hands of the universe? In this story of friendship and love, the Losers must ask themselves what it means to face one's fears. Is the price worth paying, or is it something better off being. . . forgotten? [Eighth Loser Fic] [Contains OCs.] *Under revision, 7/16 chapters edited*





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been in a huge writing mood lately. Considering that I've had major writer's block over the past couple of years, I find this to be awesome. Hopefully it won't come back with a vengeance any time soon.
> 
> Not long after Chapter One was released, I began writing an IT fic. Sadly, I never made it past the first chapter. I thought that it was yet another story that wasn't meant to be. But then I came across Floating on Air. I fell in-love with it and soon found the motivation to pick up where I left off. I'm tired of thinking and not doing. So, here is me doing! Will it be good? Bad? Average? I have no idea. The only thing I know is that I'm having a blast writing it.
> 
> The fic will contain an OC named Kimmy Hanscom. She's Ben's older sister by two years. She'll be introduced in the next chapter. This chapter, which will serve as the prologue, will focus on IT, the Turtle, and the Other.
> 
> I wanted to incorporate the novel and miniseries into my story, something that Floating on Air has done, as well. (Side Note: go read Winchestergirl123's IT fic, which you can read on FFN. Seriously. It's amazing.) I also plan to add some twists and turns that are not seen in the 2017 film.
> 
> Seeing as this is a horror film, the rating will be M.
> 
> So far, the warnings include: abuse, death, strong language, violence, and gore. More will be added later on, which will happen around Chapter Two. That being said, the prologue includes the death of a young child. Please read with caution.
> 
> I'll be taking some creative liberties throughout the fic, which can be seen a little bit in this chapter. If that's not something you are into, that's alright. If it is, I hope you enjoy what I have for this fandom :)
> 
> Before we begin, I want to thank two wonderful people: my mom and Winchestergirl123. They are the ones who helped make this story possible.
> 
> My mom helped me polish the prologue, which I greatly appreciate. Though it made me anxious to have her read my fic, I am thankful to have someone as lovely as her. (Thank you, Mama, for being honest with me.) To Winchestergirl123: I want to thank you for giving me your input and for pointing my story in the right direction. Your advice and encouragement gave me the push I needed to dive back in to the world of writing. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not Stephen King. Thus, I do not own IT in any way, shape, or form.

_IT_ awoke to the perfect alarm: the sound of anguished cries.

For twenty-seven years, _IT_ had slept within the rancid sewers of Derry, Maine. It was a dark, cruel place with a seemingly endless maze of rank tunnels that possessed a dizzying feeling of helplessness. It was, indeed, the ultimate dwellings for something that thrived off of fear and immense pain.

 _IT_ s mouth drooled from starvation, which dripped onto damp cement. Wanting to know where the delectable noise had come from, _IT_ s mind began to wander until it found its source.

From _IT_ s nest, _IT_ could hear the cries of a boy. The rush of terror that the child possessed hit _IT_ full force, making _IT_ giggle with glee.

_Tasty, tasty fear!_

_IT_ could sense the piercing sensation that radiated off of the boy's body - an overheated space heater ready to catch fire. With each hit he took from his stepfather's unforgiving hammer, he begged for mercy.

" _Stop it_ ," he squeaked. " _Stop it, Daddy. I'm sorry. I love you_."

Not long after he gave this desperate plea, the boy began to greatly weaken. And then, with a final, shallow breath, his short life came to an end.

 _IT_ watched as fresh blood trickled from the boy's head, a violent red laced with gore and the oh so sweet scent of horror. How _IT_ longed to slurp it up, to feel its warmth beneath _IT_ s tongue.

Once he realized what he had done, a cry of shock came from the boy's stepfather. His fists trembled as his gaze focused on the pools of blood that crept across his kitchen floor. It was this glistening substance that had condemned him to hell itself. Had the stepfather been alone, _IT_ would have most likely gone after him first. Though _IT_ did eat adults, _IT_ preferred the flesh of children. They believed in anything they laid their innocent sight upon. The younger _IT_ s victims were, the easier they were to frighten.

 _IT_ also discovered the sobs of another boy, one who wasn't much older than the child who had passed on. The guilt he felt for hiding in his room as his little brother suffered ate away at his heart beautifully.

" _I'm sorry, Dorey. I'm so, so sorry_ ," he whispered, tears trickling down his ashen cheeks.

The hunger _IT_ felt intensified, screaming at _IT_ to begin _IT_ s killings. To take a bite of _ITs_ delicious treat known as _Eddie Corcoran_. _IT_ decided that _IT_ deserved a nice feast, one that stank of juicy torment.

Knowing that _IT_ had much work to do, _IT_ shifted from _IT_ s true form into that of Pennywise the Dancing Clown. _IT_ shook with familiarity as _IT_ s body finished morphing, relishing _IT_ s changed shape. _IT_ chuckled, a sound that resembled haunting bells, as _IT_ began to put _IT_ s plan into action.

_Time to float._

* * *

From another part of the multiverse, Maturin watched as _IT_ awoke. In the past, the Turtle had been restrained during _IT_ s year-long feedings. There had been little that the Turtle could have done, leaving the fate of _IT_ s victims in their own hands. Silence and solitude were how Maturin preferred to spend its existence. It preferred to remain within its shell, hidden away from those who would otherwise bother it.

And yet. . . .

"It seems our friend has finished their slumber," remarked the Other.

The Turtle, more than ready to fall asleep, languidly blinked in response. This wasn't the first time the lesser cosmic being had terrorized Derry. Nor was it the first time the survivors preferred to forget than remember. Maturin could not fault the humans for pretending as if nothing happened, to not want to face the truth. A creature that took their young and haunted their dreams was enough to drive any mortal mad.

"What woke _IT_ this time?" asked the Turtle.

"The murder of a boy named Dorsey Corcoran. It would appear that the quick burial his stepfather did led to our friend's first meal."

 _IT_ did tend to hibernate until a catastrophic tragedy occurred. But there were also events of a lesser degree that were enough to pull _IT_ from _IT_ s hibernation. To say that the murder, one that had not been caused by the doing of _IT_ , of Dorsey was gruesome enough to do just that. . . .

Maturin closed its gaze in sympathy for the life that had been snuffed out. And for the lives that would soon follow Dorsey's lead. Many had perished to satiate _IT_ s hunger and cruel games. If only _IT_ could exist without the need for the suffering of others. Then, maybe then, they wouldn't have to worry about _IT_ upsetting the balance of the Macroverse.

"Perhaps we should keep a close watch on them."

"As we always have," the Turtle pointed out. "But can we damn _IT_ for listening to _IT_ s instincts?"

Though the Turtle did not agree with _IT_ s killings, it did respect _IT_ \- only holding a higher regard for Gan. The three, though in possession of different levels of power, were one in the same. They were individual parts of a whole, greater presence.

It wasn't as if the Turtle wished to ignore the grisly events that were soon to come. Maturin, after all, did vomit out the universe that the humans inhabited. There was a fondness it held for its creation, for it was the only place that the Other had little to no doing in bringing into existence.

Because of this, the Turtle did what it could to look after those who found misery during _IT_ s horrible reign.

"No. We cannot," agreed Gan. "But it is important that we make sure our friend is kept in check. The less lives _IT_ takes, the better. Besides," - Gan paused, increasing the Turtle's interest - "I have a feeling that _IT_ s time is soon coming to a close."

The Turtle closed its eyes, focusing its sight upon what the Other had seen: children, eight of them, brought together during a life-changing summer. The gift they held within themselves filled its mind. Their past, present, and future blurred into a singular - yet separate - moment. Maturin knew that their lights, bright as the sun, would someday become a powerful force that would surpass an infinity.

_Such a wondrous talent._

But they were also young, tiptoeing the line between childhood and adulthood. They needed someone to guide them. To watch over them as they grew into the people they were destined to become.

"It would appear so," the Turtle hummed. "How great a burden they must carry."

"All must meet their fate, no matter how heavy it may be."

Maturin peeked at Gan. "So if they perish before their biggest battle. . . ."

A heaviness settled upon the all-powerful beings as the dread of what could come to pass flashed before their mind's eye.

"Our friend will win," - added the Other - "and will continue _IT_ s feedings until your universe comes to an end."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. . . . That was the prologue. It was fun writing from the perspective of IT and the Turtle. I would like to write from the Other's perspective at some point, but I'm not quite sure if that's a for sure thing. 
> 
> If the Turtle or the Other seemed out of character, I apologize. I wanted to take a closer look at what happened behind the scenes. I should mention that I haven't read the Dark Tower series (which is where the Other/Gan is from), nor have I finished reading IT yet. Aside from the miniseries and film, my main source material is the IT wiki site. I'm hoping to have read all of IT before Chapter Two comes out, seeing as it would help make Bright more faithful to King's work. 
> 
> For those who have not read the novel, Dorsey is a minor character in it. It's also where his plea is from. I did intentionally have Eddie call him Dorey, in case if any of you thought I accidentally misspelled his name. 
> 
> (Side note: I wanted to incorporate The Film Theorists' theory on how the Losers Club all have the ability to Shine. If you would like to watch the video they made, it's titled "Film Theory: IT - Pennywise's Greatest Fear." I highly recommend it.)
> 
> I'll try to have the first chapter up as soon as possible.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me ages to write, but I can finally say that I've finished the first chapter! It was so satisfying to mark this as complete. I've even begun writing the first draft of the second chapter(!).
> 
> We finally get to meet Kimmy Hanscom. Most of this chapter is seen from her perspective, since I wanted to focus on some of her back story and introduction. Don't worry. I plan to write from the perspective of other characters throughout the fic. (Which I'm super excited to do.)
> 
> Since we didn't meet Ben's family in the film, I thought it would be interesting to see what might have happened had they been in it. So, we will be seeing not only his mom, but also his aunt and cousin.
> 
> I should also note that I went back and edited the prologue. In my excitement to publish Bright, I accidentally overlooked some grammar and spelling mistakes (how the hell did I mix up 'its' and 'it's?' I've brought shame to my school's English department). I also added a little more detail, so there's that, too.
> 
> For Kimmy's face-claim, the actress who looks closest to how I imagine her as a teen is Mackenzie Foy. I'm still debating which actress looks like adult Kimmy, though. Thankfully, I still have some time to decide.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own IT. Stephen King does.

Kimmy knew that she would always remember the last time she spoke to her dad; that the bittersweet memory would play before her, day and night, like a never-ending movie reel.

It had been the beginning of summer, only days after school was out for the season. At the time, her family was living in Houston. It was a hot place, with humidity that weighed down on Kimmy's shoulders as if it were a pair of thick, calloused hands that firmly pressed atop them. Aside from that, and the Evangelists who continuously told her that she needed to bask in the lord's grace, she loved living there.

At least, she _did_.

She and Ben, her little brother slash best buddy, had been promised a trip to the lake. Kimmy was eager to go, to spend time with her dad and brother. It wasn't that she didn't want her mom to join in. It was just that it had been ages since the three of them had done something together.

There had also been great worry about how tired her dad would be after finishing his shift at Smith & James Welding.

" _We'll go,_ " he had told her, flashing her that lazy grin of his. " _I promise, Kims_."

Kimmy had peered up at him sheepishly, the toast she'd made for breakfast forgotten. " _You won't be tired?_ "

" _When I'm with the two of you, I'm never tired._ "

Her dad had been a cheesy man, unafraid of clichés. He wore them as if they were a badge of honor. This greatly annoyed his wife, who happened to be a high school English teacher.

Kimmy had rolled her eyes in mock irritation, a grin like the one he'd given her minutes prior making an appearance.

" _Don't give me that attitude,_ " he'd chuckled before heading towards the front door.

Kimmy had been close behind him, the tail of her robe trailing alongside her like a clingy duckling.

" _But you'll let us know if you're tired, right?_ "

He'd playfully ruffled her bedhead, drawing a burst of airy giggles from her, as he reassured, " _I won't be._ "

" _Right?_ "

Amusement twinkled in his sky-blue eyes. His boisterous crow's feet had even made an appearance. " _Sure. I'll tell you."_

Both knew that he wouldn't. He never did until he was about to fall face-first onto the ground.

He had kissed her forehead good-bye, told her to give his love to her mom and Ben, and then he left for his eight-hour shift.

Kimmy stood on the porch, arms crossed over her chest to keep the pre-dawn air from prickling her skin, as he pulled out of the driveway and wrinkled his nose like a disgruntled rabbit, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his lips. He smiled brightly when he'd noticed that she'd mimicked him.

And then, he was gone.

* * *

It was twelve minutes before five that Kimmy's heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. A feeling akin to frost had spread across every inch of her body, forcing her to stop where she was. The painting cup she held fell to the floor, smashing into bits. Its filthy water splashed across her sock-covered feet as shards of glass twirled around her. They shimmered dangerously in the dim lighting, silently waiting to cut skin.

 _He's gone,_ she'd thought as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

She could never explain _how_ she knew. She just did. It was as natural as breathing or walking in a straight line.

Kimmy's mom felt concerned when she saw her cemented to the hallway floorboards. She watched as her daughter's breath hitched in panic as she struggled to find a way back down to Earth.

" _Honey, what's wrong?_ "

Kimmy couldn't bring herself to reply. Everything hurt. Had she been able to think of the right words, they would have gotten caught on the way up her throat.

That's when they had received the call, which echoed ominously from the kitchen.

To Kimmy, the distance between her and reality grew until a hole opened up before her. It screamed and gnawed at her ankles, snarling its unforgiving taunts. She didn't hear her mom cry out when she received the news that Roger Hanscom had died of a _goddamn heart attack_. Instead, she fell further and further into her grief, a place she would remain for weeks to come.

* * *

When Ben left his room in a hurry, worried about his mom's safety, he had noticed Kimmy's state. How she seemed to be peering at something far away, lost and dazed as the world screeched to a confusing halt. Though it had been faint (a gnat tickling the back of his neck), he, too, felt that something bad had happened to his dad.

It was only when the Hanscom siblings crossed Derry's town line that their ability to sense things, things that were off, began to grow. An ability that would stay with them long before then and long after that.

* * *

"Please tell me this isn't Derry," Kimmy groaned while peering out of the passenger window.

It was a rainy day, the kind that made you want to curl up beneath a blanket while you watched TV. Through the droplets that had managed to cling on to the car, she watched as they drove towards their new home. Based on the limited, foggy stories she'd heard about her mother's childhood, Kimmy figured that it wasn't that big of a place to begin with.

She didn't necessarily have anything against small towns. In fact, she found them charming and, for the most part, liked how they remained true to their roots. Derry wasn't even the first town her family had lived in. Her dad had been a welder, a job that would cause them to move from time-to-time. . . .

An ache, vague yet persistent, clutched her chest.

They all knew that he put himself in danger every time he went to work. Despite the risks, it didn't seem to faze him. Perhaps it should have taken away some of the blow, the knowledge that his work could backfire on him. Ironically, it wasn't welding that ended his life, a life that had seven years left before he reached fifty. No. It was a fucking heart attack that took him.

The universe really did blow sometimes. 

Kimmy's mom managed to peek at her. "I know it's not much, but we have to make it work."

Mom was right. Dad dying had greatly lessened the Hanscom's income. Now they were on their way to live with Kimmy's awful aunt and pain in the ass cousin.

But it wasn't the lack of size that Derry, Maine failed to possess that caused her to say what she had. It was the dread that tumbled around her belly, reminding her that her dad wouldn't be joining them. Being here made everything seem final, unchangeable.

"I like it, Mom," piped-up Ben from the back seat.

Sweet, innocent Ben who hid behind books. Smart, observant Ben who felt uncomfortable in his own skin. He was the only one who seemed to have a firm-enough grasp on their current circumstances.

Their mom smiled at her youngest's response, making Kimmy feel like a jerk. She hadn't meant to come off as moody, to make it sound like she would make things difficult.

Kimmy slid down the tattered, leather seat. "I'm just surprised that we haven't seen any cows, is all," she grumbled.

Her family saw through her, though. They knew that Kimmy did her best to hide her emotions, that she tried to put on a brave face. They could tell that she was anxious about staying here. (She'd begun bouncing her left leg the moment she'd noticed the "Welcome to Derry" sign, green and stiff - the sign, not her.)

A lot had happened in the past few months, most of it far from good. Dad's death, not being able to keep up with rent, moving somewhere that their mom had once fled. . . .

Kimmy closed her eyes, hoping that the time they spent with her aunt would fly by.

If only she knew how much trouble her wish would bring her.

* * *

Aunt Jean scrunched her nose in disapproval the moment she noticed the outfit Kimmy wore.

"You allow your daughter to dress like a slob?" Aunt Jean asked Mom from beneath the porch awning.

Kimmy was both confused and shocked by her aunt's greeting. She hadn't expected her baggy acid wash jeans and oversized pink sweatshirt to be a problem. Then again, this was her aunt. She should have known that her self-righteous relative would find fault in her no matter what she did. It certainly wasn't the first time this had occurred.

Mom looked at Kimmy, a hint of aggravation from her sister's greeting swimming in her eyes. "We've been driving for two days, Jean. I wanted my kids to be comfortable."

Aunt Jean managed to tear her eyes off of her niece and focus on Ben. "Still fat, I see."

Anger boiled beneath Kimmy's skin as her body shook with the need to yell at her condescending aunt. No one picked on her brother's weight, _no one._ It pissed her off, and rightfully so.

The only thing that people seemed to notice about Ben was that he was heavier than most pre-teens. That he'd run out of breath before he finished jogging a mile or that he usually chose a cupcake over an apple for dessert. They refused to see how intelligent he was, how he could piece things together before any of his peers. Nor did they care how kind he was to others - helping those who, too, knew what it was like to be picked on.

Memories of kids calling Ben god-awful names and pushing him around while they jeered rushed to the front of her mind. Needless to say, it spurred her on.

"Still sitting high and mighty on your bony ass, I see," Kimmy growled.

That really caught her aunt's attention.

_Good._

The older woman's neck snapped in Kimmy's direction. With her lips twisted into a vicious snarl, Aunt Jean hissed, "What did you say to me?"

Still caught up on her anger, Kimmy was more than happy to repeat. Before she could add on to what she'd said, her mother stepped in while Ben grabbed hold of her sweatshirt.

"She didn't mean it," promised her mom.

Kimmy wanted to correct her, to say that she sure as fucking hell meant it, but before she could, Ben whispered, "Kimmy. Please, don't."

The sound of her brother's voice began to ground her, to help her focus back into herself. Her temper, which had risen painfully so, began to simmer down. It was usually kept in check, hardly ever making an appearance. It seemed that her aunt had gotten the best of her, the last straw drawn on an already stressful week.

"I am doing my Christian duty, letting you and your ungrateful children stay with us."

"I know."

"If you don't get ahold of your daughter, Arlene, I will be forced to make you leave my home."

The power Aunt Jean held over them, and the chance she had to make their life even more difficult than it already was, scared Kimmy. Should any of them slip in a way that displeased her aunt. . . .

Her mom seemed to feel similarly, though she managed to swallow her pride for the well-being of her kids. And for her husband, who would have wanted them to be safe and looked after. "I understand. We're grateful that you've allowed us to stay with you and Jim."

Jim was Aunt Jean's only child. He was a year older than Ben and liked to let everyone know it. Jim even went as far as acting as if he was older than Kimmy (which was honestly more laughable than infuriating). At this rate, he'd most likely end up becoming an even worse version of his mother. It also didn't help that he liked to cry wolf to his mom like a baby bear. Even if she didn't believe him, Aunt Jean was more than happy to make sure everyone else did.

With a dismissive huff, Aunt Jean smoothed out her wrinkle free skirt. "Jim will show you to your rooms," she announced before making her way back indoors.

The screen door _whooshed_ shut behind her, leaving the family of three to find her son on their own.

* * *

True to Aunt Jean's word, Jim led them to their rooms. He took his aunt to her room first. (A sewing room that had a fold out bed shoved up against the wall.) He then immediately marched away, not bothering to greet Kimmy or Ben, nor did he care to make sure that they kept up with him. It didn't take long for him to point out their room.

"That's yours," he said before jerking his head towards a door that was down the elaborately decorated hall. "And that's mine, so you morons better not think about going near it, or else I'll make your lives a living hell."

The siblings shared a bewildered look. Although, they should have known that he'd pull a stunt like this.

"Whatever, Jim," said Kimmy, more than ready to settle down.

Jim rolled his eyes. "' _Whatever, Jim_ ,'" he poorly mimicked his cousin. "Just leave me the fuck alone."

Before either of them could respond, Jim stomped off to his bedroom and slammed its door.

"Leave it to Jim to be a complete brat," Kimmy sighed, gaining a smile from Ben.

"Maybe it's because he doesn't like his mom," he suggested.

"Maybe." Kimmy turned the gold handle of their door, carefully swinging it open. What laid before her made her jaw drop in shock. "You've got to be kidding me."

Their room was slightly smaller than the room their mom was in, which wasn't much to begin with. Two twin sized beds were shoved into the small space, one near the door while the other near the window. A single closet and a small dresser were the only places they had to store their clothes. Two tiny tables rested near the bed's heads, where alarm clocks and faded lamps from the early sixties sat. A brown rug was placed in the center of the room, completely mismatching its pale blue walls.

It felt like she was inside a clown car.

She knew that she shouldn't be complaining. She really shouldn't. They were lucky they had a place to sleep to begin with. Aunt Jean could have very well shoved them in her dank basement or in the dusty attic. _But still_.

Ben was the first to enter.

"It's not that bad," he remarked, taking in the bedroom from another perspective. "The curtains look new."

_The curtains. . . ._

At least one of them was trying to remain positive.

Kimmy tried not to sigh as she followed her brother, shutting the door behind her. "I feel like dear Aunt Jean is trying to punish us for merely existing."

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Probably."

She noisily snorted, rubbing her fingers beneath her nose as if that alone would be enough to take it back.

"Which bed do you want?" Ben asked.

"I don't know."

She could tell by the way he looked at the bed by the window with hopeful eyes that he wanted to take it.

"Why don't you take that one? I'll take the one nearest the door."

"You sure?" he tentatively asked.

"Yep," she confirmed, dropping her things on top of her unmade bed. "I'll be perfectly alright over here."

Ben smiled. "Thanks, Kimmy."

"No problem."

The siblings soon began putting their respective corners together. The dresser was divided between them, as was the closet. It helped that there wasn't much to unpack, since the truck that held the rest of their things had yet to arrive.

As Kimmy put some of her posters onto the wall, she said, "I was thinking about getting up before six tomorrow."

"Why would you want to do _that_?"

"The less time I have to spend with Aunt Jean and Jim the better. Actually, if it goes well, I was thinking about doing it pretty much every day."

" _Every day_?"

"Geeze, Benny. It's not like I told you that I'm going to burn down a church."

"What about sleep?"

_Ah. Sleep._

She did like to sleep-in for a bit during the weekends. It was the only time she was able to do it, especially during the school months. Though early September, they had missed the first week and a half of class, considering the move. In a sense, she only had Saturday to do so. Her aunt, unfortunately, was making them attend Sunday morning service at Derry Methodist.

"I'll go to bed early."

"Before midnight?"

"Yes, Ben. Before midnight. Anyway, there's a reason I brought it up." She turned her head, hands carefully holding her beloved Freddie Mercury poster. "I wanted to see if you would like to join me, get away from everyone for a bit?"

Ben let her question sink in, brows drawn together as he debated whether to take his sister up on her offer. "I think I'll pass for now."

Kimmy raised a dark brow.

"I like sleeping-in," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders as if to say 'what are you gonna do?'

"Enough to face her royal uptightness and Lord Bratty?"

"At least for tomorrow I am."

The fourteen-year-old let out a low whistle. "You're braver than I'll ever be."

"Sleep makes you do risky things."

"I'll say. My offer still stands if you decide to take me up on it."

Ben thanked her, shortly before the sound of light knocking answered him.

"It's open!" they replied in unison.

Their mom peeked into their new room, scanning it with great scrutiny.

"Hi, Mom," said Ben. "Are you unpacked?"

The sound of her son's voice drew in her attention. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Ben said, Kimmy nodding her head in agreement.

Their mom gestured her hand towards the end of Kimmy's bed, asking for permission to sit, which she was given. It squeaked beneath their mom's weight, creaking like the unpolished cogs of a clock.

_Well, that's not going to keep me up at night._

Once settled, their mom's face softened. "I know that neither of you want to be here."

_That's a bit of an understatement._

"If I'm being honest, I don't want to be here, either." A look of worry glossed over their mom's eyes as she thought of a distant memory. She never went too much into her childhood, yet Kimmy could tell that her mom had more unhappy memories of Derry than happy ones. It's why she left the moment she graduated from high school. She even told her husband that there was "no way in hell" that she'd ever return. No matter what.

And now, here their mom was, nineteen years later. Stuck in the place that she spoke poorly of.

"We're lucky that your aunt has taken us under her wing," she said, a dull smile plastered across her face. It seemed that she was doing this more for herself than for Kimmy or Ben. "When I have enough money saved up, I'll buy us a house far from here."

The thought of having a place of their own filled Kimmy with excitement. Since the fall of 1983, buying a house had always been the plan.

" _I'm going to find a gig that won't cause us to move_ ," her dad had announced, his voice filled with determination.

Being nine at the time, Kimmy imagined a towering tree house to play in with Ben and a dog to run around the yard with. It had been nice, hearing her parents say: " _We're one day closer to having a house_." The older she became, the more she realized that these proclamations were only a way to keep the dream alive.

"But until then, I need both of you to behave."

The glance she sent Kimmy's way made it clear that this was especially aimed at her.

Kimmy looked down at her feet in guilt. "Sorry."

"I just need you to be good to them, even if they don't deserve it."

She wanted to protest, to say how unfair it was. Why did they have to treat Aunt Jean and Jim nicely when all they would do was treat them like shit?

Her dad's philosophy had been "treat others with kindness, but never let them walk over you." He'd say this to her whenever she came home from school after a rough encounter with some of her classmates. She may not always live up to her dad's beliefs, but she sure as hell did her absolute best.

And now, her mom was telling her to go against what he'd tried to teach her and Ben.

Instead of ranting what was on her mind, she mumbled, "Whatever you say."

" _Kimmy_."

"I'll try, Mom. But I -"

"You _can_ and you _will_ ," her mom interrupted, leaving her slack-jawed.

Did her mom seriously give her the my-word-is-final tone-of-voice? She hadn't used it since Kimmy was in seventh grade. After being told that she wasn't allowed to stay up late to watch Queen perform on _SNL_ , Kimmy had thrown a fit. Her mom replied in that firm voice of hers: " _Kimberly Anne Hanscom, you will go to bed this instant._ "

That had been understandable, but _this_? To take shit from people so that they could have a place to live?

"Benny?" their mom said, softening her voice as she ignored the rage burning within Kimmy's hazel gaze.

Ben looked between his sister and his mom, seeming to not know how to respond, until: "Okay."

"Thank you, sweetie." Their mom looked at Kimmy, expecting to hear her promise that she would behave.

Through gritted teeth, fists tightly clenched, the teen said, "Fine. I'll be good."

For a moment, it looked like Mom was going to reach out a hand and grip her arm in gratitude. At the last second, she stopped, fingers outstretched in the air. After nodding her head in appreciation, their mom got back on her feet.

"I'm going to finish bringing in our things. I'll see you both at dinner," she announced, leaving them to stew in an agreement they never wanted to make in the first place.

"Kimmy?"

"Yeah, Ben?"

"Are you okay?"

Honestly, she wasn't. She wanted to get out of the house, hide away somewhere where she could scream until she was content. But the rain was forecasted to soon pick up again, making things unideal to venture through. Still, it _was_ tempting.

Choosing to give a partial truth, Kimmy said, "I'm bored. Wanna play cards?"

He knew that she was far from being 'okay,' that she held in a lot of what was on her mind. Granted, he wasn't pleased that their mom wanted them to be nice to two of the worst people he knew. But what could he do? It wasn't like he'd be able to get them a better living situation based solely on his desire to get out of there. Arguing was pointless. Though not ideal, acceptance and lying-low was the only choice they could make for the time being.

"Sure."

As they began a round of Go Fish, rain started to patter on the roof. It allowed Kimmy to forget for a moment that she was somewhere that she would love to be miles and miles away from.

She wanted to be in Houston. She wanted to watch a John Wayne marathon with her parents and Ben. She wanted to lounge in the living room of the place she had called home for almost an entire year.

_Home._

If only it wasn't so far away.

If only it wasn't gone forever.

_If only. . . ._

* * *

Little did Derry's newest inhabitants know that something menacing lurked below. Slinking _IT_ s way through the sewers was a creature that would soon haunt their steps. A thing that they wouldn't be able to escape, be it beneath their sheets or the deepest parts of their minds.

_Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide._

_IT_ was only getting started.

And oh, how terrifying _IT_ would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look. Another IT appearance. What is IT up to? Lots of stuff, I would imagine - all bad, of course.
> 
> I know that Mr. Hanscom does not die of a heart attack anywhere outside of my story. I wanted him to not be alive, like in the book and miniseries, but I also wanted to give my own spin on his death.
> 
> What do you think of Kimmy so far? I feel like she would be a bit protective of her family, especially after her dad died. We'll dive more into who she is soon.
> 
> I also want to thank those of you who have subscribed, bookmarked, reviewed, and/or left a kudos. I'm glad that you enjoy what I have so far. 
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we see Stan. It was both a bit challenging and fun to write from his perspective. I hope you like reading his POV as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Disclaimer: Once again, I am not the author of IT.

Kimmy woke long before those who didn't dare believe that things happened before eight o'clock. Though it seemed like her aunt would be the kind of person who woke up before the sun, that seemed to only pertain to Sundays. Which worked out well for the teen.

She made sure she was quiet as she readied herself for the day. Careful not to wake a snoring Ben, Kimmy tensely slipped on a sweater that was two sizes too big and jeans that would have fallen to her feet had she not put on a belt. After filling her backpack with some of her Marvel comics, a sketchbook, a few mix tapes, and a bulging pencil case, she lightly tiptoed to the kitchen.

Kimmy stuffed a slice of bread into her mouth, casually munching on it as she placed plenty of fruit and a PB&J sandwich into her bag's front pocket. After making sure that everything was cleaned and put back in its place, she made her way towards freedom.

Upon stepping onto her aunt's porch, birds began to chirp while a cool morning breeze brushed her cheeks, embracing her with welcoming glee. The clouds, she noticed, were tinted a light pink and soft yellow - like a whimsical, pastel painting. Kimmy wouldn't be surprised if a few _My Little Pony_ characters showed up to perform an annoyingly cheerful dance.

 _Come join us_ , they seemed to whisper. _We'll keep you safe_.

_No arguing there._

Her Walkman, which was gently held within her grasp, patiently waited for her to press its worn play button. She slipped her headphones atop her reddened ears, fingertips tingling with anticipation. While the opening notes of "Space Oddity" softly filled her mind, she began her long-awaited walk towards a fairly calm day - determination burning within her eyes.

_Here's hoping no one makes me come back._

* * *

Stanley Uris considered himself to be a responsible person. He listened to his mom when she asked him to do his chores, which he usually was on top of before she had the chance to do so. He remained silent during his father's sermons unless instructed otherwise. He studied for tests, turned his homework in on time, and ate all the food placed upon his plate at dinner time.

Those in Derry who took notice of how mature the rabbi's son was would comment on how respectful he was.

" _He'd never talk back to his authority figures,_ " they'd say with delight, as if planning a scheme that would challenge his identity.

_A true Boy Scout._

His Scout leader would be proud, which he was. (Stan was the first of his troop to correctly identify poison ivy and tie a perfect clove hitch, among other things.)

Admittedly, it was rather lonely.

It was a great honor to be trusted by his elders; he wasn't against that. It was the fact that people seemed to forget that he was a twelve-year-old boy, _not_ a grown man. Which was a burden at times, especially with a father who expected so much from his son. He'd say things that made Stan feel ten years older than he was, and then seconds later he'd give him a look that was filled with disappointment.

" _I expected more from you, Stanley,_ " he would say if Stan couldn't remember what was discussed at service. " _You should know these things._ "

There were other less positive things his temperament and lifestyle brought him.

If someone didn't appreciate his personality, they would ridicule it.

The town bullies, which included an older boy named Henry Bowers and his gang of assholes, would make fun of the fact that he was Jewish. They'd treat him like dirt, _lowe_ r than dirt. They found his religion, his life, to be stupid. Because of this, it wasn't uncommon to cross paths with them at least a few times a week.

Saturdays usually lacked in the bully department (keyword: _usually_ ), due to the fact that Stan would spend most of the day with his family and the other members of Derry's only synagogue. Even though those rare run-ins leaned more towards brief than lengthy, Henry managed to put in his quota for the week by popping up when Stan least expected him to.

Aside from all of the above, Saturdays were mostly uneventful.

But today. . . . Today was different.

On his way to the synagogue, he noticed that the tree nearby had someone sitting beneath it for the first time in years. And not just any person. A girl who looked to be around the same age as Stan. She had her knees bent to serve as a table for what looked like a _Spider-Man_ comic book. Her gaze excitedly shifted back and forth, the tips of her fingers pinching one of its sharp corners.

He'd never seen her before, here or anywhere else. She had to be a new kid. There was no way that she was a born and raised Derry, Maine kid. He could tell, seeing as he was one himself.

There was something about her that stuck out to him, something that lingered in the back of his mind. Seeing her for the first time, Stan hadn't been able to figure out _what it was_ that drew him in like a moth to flame. Like most who feel the blossoming of affection for another soul, it was only when he'd gotten the chance to know her that he was able to solve this puzzling riddle: It was because of her kindness, protective nature, and ability to understand who you were that made his very being soar whenever he looked her way.

Throughout service, his mind kept drifting back to the girl.

Who was she? Why was she so close to the synagogue?

Stan noticed that the adults had glanced at her in confusion and annoyance as they made their way past her. It wasn't like she was on the property, but it was close enough to make it look as if she were. After all, very few non-Jews ever bothered to be within the proximity of this particular place of worship.

Thinking that she'd be long gone by the time service had finished, Stan was surprised to see she hadn't moved an inch. The only difference was that she'd begun chewing on a pear and had taken out a sketchbook.

Stan watched as she lazily moved her hand across the more-than-likely blank pages as she peered across the street every now and again. He'd been curious enough to look for what had captured her attention.

At first, he didn't see anything, but then he saw a small cluster of robins eagerly pecking the ground.

His heart beat against his chest in excitement.

Did she like birds, too?

Not only was he the only Jewish student at Derry Middle School, he was also the only pre-teen who liked bird watching. It was his favorite pastime, for it gave him peace of mind when everything felt too crazy. Even if he wasn't having a bad day, he still enjoyed watching the winged animals of the small-minded town.

Birds didn't bother you.

As long as you kept your distance, they didn't expect anything from you. And they were beautiful, with the ability to fly wherever they want whenever they want – creatures who held glorious independence between their glistening feathers.

Stan wished he could have what they had.

He wanted to see if he could join her, but it was Sabbath, which meant he was to spend the rest of the day with his family. It was their time to reflect on god together, be it lounging in the living room or sitting at the dining room table. Though his parents were devoted to their faith, they sometimes let him leave the house for an hour or two.

"Mom, can I go out for a little bit?" he asked his mother, hoping that today would be one of those days.

Without looking up from the book she was reading, she asked, "What for?"

"I want to do some bird watching."

That was the winning phrase. It was a hobby they took comfort in, for it kept him away from the bad crowds - mostly because it had the tendency to repel anyone from joining him.

"Don't go too far," she replied.

"I won't."

* * *

As promised, he didn't stray farther than the synagogue. 

* * *

_On my honor I will do my best_

_To do my duty to god and my country and to obey the Scout Law;_

_To help other people at all times;_

_To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight._

* * *

Sitting beneath the tree, the edges of a tattered quilt splayed out around her, was the girl. Still there. Still drawing, a look of deep thought etched across her slightly scrunched face.

Stan's palms felt clammy as he clutched his binoculars between them. He didn't have much experience talking to girls, especially ones who may or may not like birds as much as him. The idea of having someone who got him, even if it was only one part of what made Stan _Stan_ , made him both feel sick to his stomach and eager to meet her all at once.

It also didn't hurt that she was pretty. Then again, that didn't necessarily make things easier, either. What if all he could manage to do was stare at her like an idiot?

He could imagine her asking him if he had always been a staring creep or if it was his first time acting like one.

_Who, me? A creep? I'm more of a loser, but I guess I could add that to my list of reasons why I shouldn't talk to people who are not my loser-y friends._

He shook his head, curls bouncing against his blotchy forehead.

_Focus, Stan. She's a girl, not an archangel._

With a shaky inhale and exhale of breath, Stan stepped forward.

_Here goes nothing._

* * *

All Kimmy could hear was a-ha's "Take On Me." She didn't hear someone say: "Hello." Nor did she hear them repeat: "Hell. . . o?" She did, however, feel someone tap her shoulder, causing her to look in said person's direction.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, shoving her headphones onto her shoulders. "Sorry. I didn't hear you."

A boy with curly light brown hair stood before her, a rather tentative look plastered upon his face. He looked like he was the same age as Ben, though she couldn't tell for certain. If he was, perhaps he could befriend Benny! But asking him to do that didn't sound like the best idea. She didn't want her brother's only 'friend' to have been bugged into becoming such. It would crush Ben, though he'd be smart enough to figure out that Kimmy had something to do with it.

He looked down at the ground and said just above a mumble and a whisper, "It's fine."

When he didn't say anything else or look back up, Kimmy felt as if she wasn't supposed to be where she was. _Of course_ , the one place she chose to hang out happened to be his spot, his _special_ place.

She gestured her free hand around the area. "Do you need me to leave?" she asked.

Kimmy hoped that the answer would be along the line of "of course not" rather than "you bet your fucking ass you do." Her luck the first townie, aside from her aunt and cousin, she encountered would be a negative one.

The boy's head snapped up, eyes wide and mouth formed in the small shape of an 'O.'

"No!"

Kimmy raised a brow at this. He sounded a bit worried, more so than she'd expected. In fact, she didn't expect to hear this at all.

Seeming to have realized this, a light blush of embarrassment colored his cheeks. "You don't have to move. You can stay. I mean, it's not my place, so I can't tell you to go away. Not that I want you to. Leave, that is."

It took a moment for her to figure out how to reply. When she did, she smiled - giving him a good look at the shiny braces she couldn't wait to be rid of. She found his response to be rather cute, though she knew he probably wouldn't like to hear this thought.

Instead of moving to sit down, the boy remained where he stood. He kept eyeing her blanket, as if he wanted to join her. But he kept silent, as if he was worried that she'd snap at him that he shouldn't be a baby and sit down on the goddamn grass. It was still a bit damp, even though it had been hours since the last storm had passed. Slightly or not, she couldn't blame him for not wanting to sit on the ground. Muddy pants, even a little, didn't sound ideal.

Moving to make room for the unnamed boy, Kimmy pointed towards the available space with a warm smile. "It's kind of muddy. You can sit on my blanket if you want to."

Now he was looking at her as if he wasn't sure how to respond to her. His eyes were slightly wider and unblinking, and his mouth had formed yet another 'O.'

"I swear I don't bite." When he didn't respond, she gave him a side smirk. "Or do I?"

That got a brief laugh, like a huff of wind, from him and something akin to amusement that flashed across his still indecisive gaze.

"I don't mind."

And then, after another moment of silence, he slowly made his way towards the edge of the thick blanket.

"Thanks," he said, sight focused on his still adjusting legs.

She held out a hand, causing him to look at her again. "My name's Kimmy."

He slowly stretched out his own, still unsure about whether he should further engage. Little did Kimmy know that the reason for this was because his heart was beating wildly against his chest. Poor Stan felt nervous and worried and curious and unsure all at once.

"Stan," he said.

Kimmy's smile grew. "Nice to meet you, Stan."

"Likewise."

_Adorable! And formal, too._

Perhaps it wouldn't be as crappy living here as she had originally thought.

If she could make a friend or two who made her already messy life feel slightly less painful, then maybe Derry wouldn't be the worst place she lived.

"Do you like birds?" asked Stan, his chin pointed towards her sketchbook.

Kimmy tilted her head slightly to the side, looking down at the delicate, tiny bodies of the yet to be finished robins. "I guess. I mean, they're cool to look at. You?"

Stan steadily nodded his head.

"Do you have a favorite?"

A spark must have been ignited inside of Stan, for his entire being lit up. Any sense of unease he might have felt melted away as a beaming smile made a blinding appearance.

"Yes! There's so many to choose from, though. I like the king eider and the long-tailed duck. And then there's the common house swallow and the violet-green swallow. But nothing compares to the -"

He had been rambling with so much excitement that it felt jarring when he trailed off.

What happened? Was he okay? Was he painfully shy that it took some time for him to get out of his shell?

"You okay?" was the only thing she could think to ask.

Stan looked embarrassed, as if someone had called him out for acting ridiculously immature. He looked like he was in the middle of processing a plethora of crucial information, unsure of how to respond to her question.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just. . . ."

"'Just?'"

His face took on a faint tinge of pink as he carefully replied, "It's just that people usually don't like it when I talk a lot about birds."

"Oh?"

And then it hit her.

_Oh._

"I like the tree swallow," she soon added, choosing the first bird that popped into her head. She didn't know a lot, but she knew some of the more commonly known ones, like goldfinches and swans. "They're a pretty shade of blue."

That seemed to bring him back out of his retreat.

"They are," he said, the tension in his shoulders slightly decreased.

"What's that one you were talking about, the one that 'nothing compares to?'"

"You don't mind?"

Now it was Kimmy's turn to shake her head. "Not at all. You should hear me when I talk about Queen. I don't shut up."

"The red chested hummingbird."

Glad to have gotten him to open up a little, Kimmy grinned. "Guess I'll have to look it up sometime."

"Do you have a bird book?"

"No."

"You should check out the library. They should have a few books about birds available."

"Awesome," said Kimmy, happy that she was still making conversation with someone who seemed like good company. "Thanks, Stan."

A light blush graced his cheeks, though Kimmy didn't seem to notice. He shrugged his shoulders as if it were not that big of a deal that he suggested some reading material to her. "You're welcome."

For the rest of their time together, they sat in comfortable silence. They watched the birds and took turns sketching the ones that stuck out to them the most. Was it a bit obsessive, focusing primarily on one single thing? Probably. But neither of them could be happier as they shared what they were passionate about.

As much as she liked being away from half of her family, Kimmy was the first to go.

"I need to get going," she announced, placing her things into her empty backpack. "My aunt will kill me if I'm not back in time for dinner." She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. "This was fun. Maybe we could do it again?"

"I'd like that," Stan said in a casually eager tone.

"Cool. Same time tomorrow?"

"Same time tomorrow," he echoed, much to Kimmy's amusement.

"See you tomorrow, then," she confirmed.

After hiking her backpack over her shoulders, she bid him farewell.

As she made her way down the street, a goofy grin stretched across Stan's face, stars forming before his eyes. He hadn't had many crushes in the past, so he had yet to figure it out that he liked her. But by thinking of her welcoming gaze and her elegant sketches, Stan's crush continued to grow.

The smile didn't leave. It stayed with him as he rode his bike home, when he was greeted by his mother, and when he sat down for their evening meal.

"What's got you so giddy?" his mom asked, passing him the mashed potatoes.

For a moment, Stan was pulled out of his musings. He could lie, say something that could come back to bite him in the butt, or he could tell the truth. Deciding to go with the latter, he answered, "I made a new friend today."

"I thought you were bird watching," his mom said, not sure how or why he had the time to do so.

The pre-teen looked at his still steaming meal. "They were under the tree I went to," he replied a little above his breath. "They like birds, too."

"What's their name?" asked his dad, not bothering to look up from the piece of lemon chicken he was cutting.

"Kimmy. She just moved here."

"A new kid?" asked his mom.

"Yes."

"A goy," his father stated simply, as if he already knew everything he needed to about Kimmy.

His dad _was_ the rabbi, so he'd know if they had new members - which they didn't. They hadn't for quite some time.

"I didn't ask."

That seemed to be enough information for his dad.

"Be careful, Stanley. She could be trouble."

"Yes, sir."

For the rest of the meal, the family remained quiet, the only sounds made being the _clinks_ and _clanks_ of silverware touching ceramic.

Later on, as Stan attempted to fall asleep, he couldn't stop thinking about what his dad had implied at dinner. That Kimmy could be bad company based on the possibility that she might not be Jewish. But his dad knew that his small group of friends had their own beliefs on religion, so why had he hinted that it would be wise to be wary of her?

_Why?_

_Why?_

_Why?_

But then he remembered how her slightly crooked teeth gleamed silver when she smiled and how her calm voice had been laced with humor. She had been nice to him, hadn't made fun of him for liking a hobby that was usually taken up by the elderly.

She may not be religious for all he knew, but he didn't care. Kimmy didn't seem like she could bring him trouble. If anything, good things could happen. For starters, he knew that his friends were going to lose their minds when they found out he had managed to befriend a girl. Besides, it didn't hurt to make more friends.

As Stan drifted off to sleep, his goofy smile returned as his eyes began to droop into a deep slumber. That night, he dreamed of birds and of a girl drawing shapes across a dirt covered ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Stan's dad is an asshole. I mean, pretty much every dad in the film is a fucking piece of work. But still. Fuck that guy.
> 
> I also included Stan's Boy Scout background since I think it fits his character. Maybe they'll mention it in the upcoming film? Probably not. But, yeah. He's a Boy Scout in this story.
> 
> The next chapter will be the first day of school for the Hanscom siblings. We'll also be introduced to a few more characters, both canon and original.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: has anyone seen the new Swamp Thing series? I'm addicted. Like, it's a problem. I'm way behind, though - mostly due to the fact that my free trial expired before EP5 was uploaded. Good news is that I now know who Andy Bean is. I love him, and I cannot wait to see him in Chapter Two.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own IT. Stephen King does.

Even though both of them were still exhausted from their day at Derry Methodist, Kimmy was on top of making sure that Ben woke before the crack of dawn Monday morning. Their five hour church adventure included a drab Sunday school class (the teacher had a monotone voice and reeked of bitter coffee) and a lengthy sermon about the importance of loving your fellow man. She'd nearly fallen asleep on several occasions, but Aunt Jean had prevented this by angrily slapping Kimmy's knee with a pamphlet.

There wasn't anything wrong with religion. Kimmy believed that everyone had a right to decide their own truth. It was the fact that she was being forced to take part in something she didn't follow that made her uncomfortable with the arrangement. Kimmy couldn't speak for her brother, but she could tell that he would have been happier if he'd been allowed to read one of his books.

Ben moaned in protest when she shook him awake.

"Come on, Benny. We gotta get out of here before everyone wakes up."

He managed to peek open a glossy eye. "Before Mom?"

It sounded shitty when he said it out loud. For a moment, she considered staying long enough to at least say good-bye to her mom before they parted ways. But then the argument they had a few days prior came to the front of her mind. Needless to say, she could forgive herself for leaving before the rooster crowed.

" _You_ can linger behind if it means that much to you," Kimmy said, trying her best to not come off as cranky. "But _I'm_ getting the heck out of here in thirty minutes."

Ben blinked, squinting his eyes in confusion as he took in his sister's appearance. "Are you already dressed?"

"Yep," she confirmed, pulling the long white sleeves of her shirt over her palms.

"How long have you been up?"

"Since five."

He pulled his duvet over his head, burying himself beneath the warm sheets.

"' _You're crazy, Kims,'"_ she said, pretending to continue their conversation in a grumbly voice. "We've established this." She smiled mischievously. "Besides," - she leapt atop Ben, earning a loud grunt of shock in response - "you love that I'm crazy."

"That's debatable," he mumbled, still hidden under the covers.

She shrugged her shoulders, as if to say 'what are you going to do?' "I'm going down to the kitchen to make some food. If you want to make a break for it, I'll be out the door by six."

Leaving Ben to dress, she proceeded to pack both of them their lunches (peanut butter and banana sandwiches, Pringles, Oreos, and change for milk). She grabbed two things of Pop Tarts for breakfast before heading to the front door. As she was about to leave, she heard someone gingerly make their way downstairs.

"Ready," Ben said just above a whisper.

After ruffling her brother's hair in greeting, Kimmy announced in a gleeful tone, "Off to school we go."

* * *

Finding a tree to sit beneath near Ben's school, the siblings dug into their small breakfast.

Tearing off a piece of her first Pop Tart, Kimmy held it in front of her. "Cheers," she said, tapping the tip of her meal against the chunk Ben had torn off.

"It's so early," Ben mentioned for the hundredth time.

"And peaceful."

"Still early."

"Better than dealing with Aunt Jean and Jim."

"Is it, though?"

"You wanna go back to bed when you'd be up in ten minutes anyway?"

"No."

"Thought so," Kimmy said with a grin before her mouth formed a straight line. "You didn't have to come if you didn't want to, Benny."

"I know."

"So, you wanted to?"

"Kind of."

"Oh?" she asked, the right corner of her lips twitching upwards.

Ben sighed, having caught on to his sister's playful attitude. "Yeah."

"Well, glad that that was enough for you to join me this fine morning."

The two watched in silence as the amount of students began to increase with each passing minute. Once a steady crowd had formed, hinting that it was almost time for them to part ways, Kimmy asked, "You got this?"

"I think so," he answered, gaze focused on an approaching group of boys around his age.

Kimmy frowned. He didn't sound so sure of himself, like he was way more unsettled about his first day than he was letting on. It was enough to make her worry more than she already was.

She sent him one of her I'm-trying-to-be-reassuring smiles, silver brackets and all. The way Ben's face twisted into a look of concern, however, let her know that she probably looked constipated.

"Sorry. I was trying to help, but clearly I've made you question my sanity."

That drew the tiniest of smiles from him. "Maybe a little."

Kimmy stuck out her tongue in retaliation before glancing down at her watch. "Shit. It's 7:47." Before he could respond, Kimmy was on her feet, hurriedly slinging her backpack across her shoulders. "We've got to get a -"

An undignified _oomph_ left Kimmy's chest, her body bouncing backwards. Her balance had been hard to regain, but once she had, she managed to get a look at what - _who_ \- she had run into. More than ready to apologize, Kimmy shifted her gaze towards the person's face. . . . Only to find herself even more breathless than before.

_Holy mother of god, she's gorgeous._

Peering back at her, almost at eye-level, was an attractive blonde. Her eyes, a light and friendly blue, were focused on the gapping teen. She was crushing the total rock n' roll look - with her acid wash jeans, matching denim jacket, and Pink Floyd T-shirt. Even her posture screamed "rocker," like she was about to leave for a concert at Madison Square Garden.

A crooked smile spread across the still unnamed girl's face, drawing out a deeply buried dimple. This simple action was enough to give Kimmy's heart a rapid flutter.

_She's a goddess. A freaking rock goddess._

"You okay?" she asked, voice deeper than most of the boys Kimmy went to school with. It was husky, something that would be awesome if she decided to be a bartender, and had the kind of badassery you'd expect to hear from someone who took zero shit.

"I'm Kimmy!" the frazzled teen burst out.

"Not the answer I was looking for, but hey. I'm Zelda."

A sound that was caught somewhere between a hiccup and a mousy screech rumbled its way out of Kimmy.

_Ohmygodohmygodohmygod._

She nearly fainted when Zelda laughed. The sound was higher than her normal tone of voice, like stained glass being lightly brushed with a finger.

_Dear lord, she's perfect._

Zelda glanced to the side. "Is he your brother?"

Ben, thank goodness, stepped up while his sister continued to flounder about.

"Hi. I'm Ben," he said, reaching out a hand to shake.

Zelda took it with an amused side grin. "Nice to meet you."

"Do you go here?"

"Nah. I'm a freshman. I just dropped off some of my siblings."

"Really? Me, too!" Kimmy managed to get out.

"Sweet. I was actually about to head on over." When the other girl didn't answer, Zelda raised her brows. "Would you like to walk with me?"

Ben, ever so discreetly, nudged his elbow against Kimmy's ribs, gaining a rough cough and a "Yeah! That would be great!" from her.

"Alright, then. Let's get going." After sending Ben a wink and a thumbs up, Zelda put a hand on Kimmy's shoulder to steer her in the right direction. "Wouldn't want you to be late, after all."

* * *

Ben watched Kimmy stumbled over her feet once she hit the curb, her legs awkwardly catching herself before she could fall on her ass. That was mostly due to Zelda's interference, who had pulled her back up by her arms, both chuckling at how clumsy she'd been.

He knew better than to ask if he'd see her after school. If the weekend and today were any indicator as to when he'd see her again, chances were it would be around dinner. He smiled, happy that something good had finally happened in Derry.

As Ben made his way indoors, making a mental list of questions to ask her later on, he failed to notice that a boy by the bike rack had sent a look of longing his sister's way.

* * *

To say that Beverly Marsh was the prettiest girl at Derry Middle School was an understatement. She was the most beautiful girl in existence. Her long, red hair shone like fire whenever the afternoon light hit it, turning it into a blend of bronze and auburn. And her smile - heaven help him - was brief, but it was enough to draw him in even further. It was tiny, elegant - as if she were laughing softly at a well-delivered joke. Not to mention how meticulously she took notes during class. She never once looked up from her notebook, her left hand scribbling up and down at a well-paced speed.

Ben couldn't stop thinking about her, even though he had yet to officially meet her. He was so lost in thought that when he felt a light tap on his shoulder, he nearly leapt out of his seat.

Turning around, eyes wide, he saw a boy - Eddie, he believed - with purple bruises beneath a bloodshot gaze. His thin hand hovered in the air as he sent Ben a sheepish smile.

"Sorry," he began, "But, um. . . . Can I - can I borrow a pencil? Mine broke."

"Sure," Ben said, handing his classmate the one he was holding.

"Thanks."

Ben nodded his head in response, his sight never leaving Eddie's gaunt face. There was something about him that looked off. Like he wasn't taking care of himself. When was the last time he ate a hot meal? Had he been getting more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep as of late? It was then that he began to wonder if he should check in on him after class.

It didn't take Eddie long to figure out that Ben wouldn't return to his initial position. His body stiffened up, face turning red, as he began to furiously write in his notebook.

Before Ben got the chance to ask if he was okay, the teacher snapped, "Care to explain your lack of focus, Mr. Hanscom?"

He shot back into place, cheeks growing hot when he felt like everyone in the world was looking at him. "Sorry, Mrs. Douglas."

Mrs. Douglas' hawkish gaze shifted onto Eddie. "How about you, Mr. Corcoran?"

Eddie didn't lift his head, opting to let it hang above his desk instead. "No, Mrs. Douglas."

After a few giggles and an irritated eye-roll from their teacher, class returned to normal.

From the corner of Ben's eye, he could have sworn that Beverly was looking at him. At least, he thought she was. But when he dared to look her way again, she was hunched over her notes as if she hadn't noticed a thing.

* * *

Kimmy's first day at Derry High School was absolutely fantastic. Completely out of this world. The most perfect way to begin the fall term. But that was because it included Zelda Wayne, her guide to all things school related.

Seeing as Derry High didn't have many students to begin with, they had half of their classes together. Kimmy had dreaded Algebra, with its ability to make her feel like an incompetent moron. With Zelda by her side, though (sending her notes in swirly purple letters), nothing else seemed to matter. Instead of learning what an obtuse was, Kimmy memorized everything Zelda sent her way. Things like, ' _avoid the sloppy joes'_ and ' _there's no way the mamas and papas are better than the runaways_.' Whenever their fingers brushed against each other, Kimmy felt her stomach somersault.

English was even better, seeing as she got the chance to listen to Zelda read the part of Juliet in _Romeo and Juliet_. She was fantastic, since it sounded like she knew how to read Shakespeare - something she herself sometimes struggled with.

"But wait, what's that light in the window over there?" the boy who'd been chosen to read for Romeo recited flatly. "It is the east, and Juliet is the sun."

And she was, with hair that blazed the light of an endless summer and her ability to lace declarations of undying love with the sweet taste of amber honey.

When lunch arrived, Kimmy was disappointed to learn that they didn't eat during the same time frame. Though it was a little dirty, she had an entire table to herself. No one bothered her, which she was thankful for. The last thing she wanted was to be bombarded with questions or listen to someone's attempt at a not-so-subtle braces joke. She re-read her favorite _The_ _Incredible Hulk_ comic the moment she polished off her meal.

She felt a thousand times better when she learned they had Beginners Art together.

Kimmy drew a table with a flower vase atop it while Zelda attempted to sketch what was meant to be a bowl of fruit. It looked more like a plastic version of the Blob than something that was edible.

"I should mention that there's a group of bullies in the grade above us. You might have seen some of them earlier. They tend to go after those who don't fit in and, well, sometimes the new kids."

Although appreciative of the heads up, Kimmy said matter-of-factly, "That's nothing new. My brother's been bullied before, so I know what they're like."

That was enough to make Zelda stop and stare at her. The way she looked at her with desperation made Kimmy shrink into herself a bit. They had to be run of the mill assholes. . . . Right?

"You don't understand. Henry Bowers and his pals aren't right. They're terrifying, especially Henry. I know you're not stupid, so don't do anything that will set them off."

"They can't be -"

"Patrick Hostetter keeps flies in his pencil case."

Well, that was weird.

"He likes to freak out the girls in our school with them. It's gotten to the point where no one but him finds it amusing. And Henry. . . . " Zelda's eyes shifted around the room, as if expecting him to jump out at the mere mention of his name. "He's done a lot of messed-up shit."

"What kind of 'shit?'"

"Trust me, you're better off not knowing."

"Zelda, what has he done?"

The teens stared at each other, neither of them relenting until Zelda admitted, "He kicked a dog, like _really_ kicked it. Thank god it's still alive, but I heard it was in pretty bad shape. And that's not even the worst thing he's done."

Kimmy felt tears begin to prickle around her vision. Imagining the pain the poor creature suffered made her want to hug it close, to let it know that it hadn't done anything to deserve that kind of treatment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were sensitive to that," Zelda apologized, grabbing hold of one of Kimmy's hands. A shock shot up her arm, stopping the tears from falling. "Like I said, he's done a lot of messed-up shit. Henry's a ticking time bomb. You should stay away, in case he goes off. Trust me when I say you don't want to be one of his targets."

Normally, she would brush off this Henry Bowers as someone who had no life. But this was different. This time, she was anxious about rubbing an infamous jerk the wrong way. That's when a horrifying realization crossed her mind.

_Oh, god. Benny._

What if Henry went after Ben?

If he was as bad as Zelda claimed he was, then she needed to keep a close watch on him. There was no way in hell she was going to let him touch Ben. Even if it came down to things getting ugly between her and Henry, blood and all.

All Kimmy could manage to do was nod her head and swallow the throbbing lump that was stuck in the back of her throat.

Seeing that she'd gotten through to her, Zelda gave Kimmy a final squeeze and returned to her project. She squinted her baby blues while the tip of her nose wrinkled with uncertainty. "Please tell me that this doesn't look as bad as I think it does."

Kimmy rapidly returned to her own drawing, refusing to look away from it until the end of class.

* * *

"Boys, we have survived another day of mind-numbing education," announced Richie. He'd taken it upon himself to stroll ahead of his friends, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. "I suggest we destress by heading to the arcade for an evening of fun."

"Can't," said Stan, fists clasped around the straps of his backpack. "My parents want me to finish my homework before dinner."

"Party pooper."

"My mom won't let me. She says that there's a cold going around, and I for one do not want to drown in snot," added Eddie, the smallest of the group.

Eddie was always worried about germs and playing it safe when things felt iffy. He was the complete opposite of Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier, who was always one to throw caution to the wind and speak before he thought things through. He'd nearly given Eddie a heart attack last spring when he decided to pick up a dead mouse by its tail. His friend's squirms of discomfort only encouraged him to pretend to kiss it on the lips.

Richie glanced at the remaining Loser who had yet to answer. He used his seemingly bulging eyes (thanks a lot, glasses - you thick-lensed fucks) to send a 'say yes' his way.

Bill smiled apologetically.

"Oh, come on! Whatever happened to not caring about school? You know, like every other kid our age?"

"S-s-sorry, Richie. My p-p-parents invited s-s-some of their friends over. I have to watch G-G-Georgie."

An exaggerated groan filled the autumn air as Richie tipped his chin towards the cloudy sky, its dull gray shading hinting at the high chance of rain. "You guys are ruining my plans, you know that?" He spun around, more than ready to teasingly chew them out for being unable to join him. "I mean, who wouldn't want to -" A shit-eating grin replaced his chatter, making him look like a sinister elf. He'd noticed that one of his friend's focus had shifted to a girl Richie had never seen before. "My, my, Stan. I thought you didn't like anyone."

While Stan furiously blushed, the rest of the group peered towards the person in question.

A girl, who had her dark hair held up by a giant scrunchie, was standing by the new kid - a chubby boy who they'd seen throughout the day. She was talking adamantly with him, a beaming smile never leaving her face. An ugly, red blush soon spread across her skin when the new kid said something they couldn't make out. After bumping his shoulder with her own, the two made their way down the street.

"Do you know who she is?" asked Eddie, following their retreating forms with laser focus.

"Never s-s-seen her before," Bill replied.

Three heads snapped in Stan's direction.

"Alright, spill. Do you know her?" questioned Richie, leaning in towards a now nervous Stan.

"She's. . . ."

"Yeah?"

"She's. . . ."

"We're listening."

With a huff of indignation, Stan started forward. "She's none of your business."

"Come on! Give us some details!" called out Richie as he attempted to catch up. "What's her name? What's she like? Is she a good kisser? I bet she'd be a good kisser if she didn't have all those brackets. Bet you'd get your tongue caught in them, and then - "

"Beep, beep, Richie," Bill and Eddie said in unison.

Richie waved his hand at them in response. "You can't leave us hanging, man."

Stan, who had managed to reach and mount his bike, kicked the practically perfect kickstand. "Watch me."

Before the jokester could get another word in, Stan biked away as fast as he could. This left his friends even more curious about the unnamed girl. Whoever she was, they wanted to find out more about her. And Richie was determined to do just that, even if he had to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

They were so preoccupied with this development that they didn't notice the boy who ran past them. Tears of frustration streamed down his flushed face, lips trembling, his quiet cries fading into the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you caught the Pet Sematary reference, we'll dive more into it in a couple of chapters. It was originally unintentional, but then I decided to incorporate it a bit more into this fic. Speaking of Pet Sematary, the remake was super disappointing. It's unfortunate, since it had the potential to be an enjoyable film.
> 
> In case you were wondering, Zelda's face-claim is Sabrina Carpenter.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	5. Eddie Corcoran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a difficult chapter to write. I kept putting it off because of how dark it is. Listening to happy music while I wrote/edited helped a little, though. That being said, it's a bit graphic, so please read with caution.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Abuse, violence, gore, suicide, and character death.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own IT. Stephen King does.

Eddie couldn't go home. Not when he knew that he was failing his social studies class. (He'd actually fallen behind in his school work the past couple of weeks.) An unforgiving whooping would be waiting for him if he faced his stepdad, one that would make it hard to sit down. There was a moment where he considered spending the night at the Canal, but that thought passed as soon as he'd had it.

If his mom was home, he'd be less reluctant to return. But she was off on a business trip for at least another week. Part of him hated her for leaving them alone with the monster she'd married. If she'd stayed, his brother wouldn't be dead. Or maybe his stepdad would have killed her, too. He was prone to fits of rage, the kind where he would tear the world apart while shouting drunken profanities.

Eddie's stepdad had been sober that night, the one that refused to leave him be. Things had been surprisingly calm. He had foolishly thought that they wouldn't get a beating for once. That he and Dorsey could pretend that nothing was wrong and maybe get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. But then Dorsey pissed the bed they shared. Eddie hadn't meant to scream when he felt the warmth of his brother's urine. All his brain could think to do was make a sound loud enough to wake the entire house.

Dorsey was as surprised as his brother, unaware that he'd wet himself. That soon shifted into fear when they heard their stepdad thundering down the hall. They knew before they saw him that he was mad as hell. He'd slammed open the door, the handle punching a hole in the wall that he didn't seem to notice. No. All he could see was his fearful stepsons, crowded next to each other on the filthy mattress.

" _Who the fuck screamed?!_ "

Neither of them had answered, opting to hold onto the others' hand in a trembling grip.

" _Huh? Who screamed? Answer me, you sons of a -_ " He stopped, nose having finally taken in the pungent scent. They thought he was already angry enough. This. . . this was even worse. The worst they'd seen him in months. His jaw was tight from grinding his teeth together, eyes aflame with murderous intent. " _Why do I smell piss_?" The even tone he used made Eddie wish he'd go back to yelling at them. At least when he yelled, they knew the most they'd get was a slap against some part of their body. This was dangerous, hardly charted waters.

Eddie wanted to take the blame so his sibling didn't get the brunt of it, but Dorsey's fear of the unknown beat him to it.

" _I-I wet the bed, sir,"_ Dorsey had timidly admitted, his lower lip quivering.

Before Eddie could comprehend what had happened, their stepdad lunged forward. He angrily tore Dorsey from their bed, holding him in the air for a fraction of a second. Eddie watched in silent horror as his brother cried out how he was hurting him, that he was sorry, that he didn't mean it. But their stepdad didn't listen. Instead, the door loudly shut behind him, cracking the edges of the doorframe.

At first, Eddie had been too stunned to move. He fell off of his bed when he heard the sickening sound of metal landing on bone and goops of blood splashing on tile. A pained scream soon followed. He remembered how his vision narrowed into tunnels, how his ears rung as he reached out a hand as if to open the door. But something stopped him.

And so, he remained frozen on the floor, tears prickling his eyes as he listened to Dorsey's pleas for mercy fade away. There was nothing before there was a shriek of horrifying realization.

Though Eddie couldn't see what had happened, he had a feeling that Dorsey was in bad shape. It had to be worse than any of the other beatings any of the Corcoran boys had gotten in the past. And that was saying something. Eddie's stepdad had once shoved him into a coatrack because he forgot to put away his shoes. He peed blood for a week, fearfully thinking that his stepdad had finally managed to kill him. When Dorsey didn't reply or crawl back to their room, a sickening feeling punched Eddie in the stomach.

Something was wrong.

This was further confirmed when Dorsey never came back to bed.

The suffocating scent of bleach had bid him farewell the following morning. His stepdad didn't say anything beyond, " _Don't tell anyone about last night, you hear?_ "

Eddie didn't argue.

He knew that his brother was dead when he didn't come home after school. The only thing Eddie could recall of that night was him heaving the contents of his stomach into a trash can.

His stepdad had been surprisingly calm around Eddie, hardly interacting with him. He knew he was bidding his time, doing his best not to push Eddie into spilling his guts to the police. But it was only a matter of time before something set him off again.

Even if his mom came back, he doubted that there was anything that could be done. His stepdad would claim he didn't know where Dorsey was. Eddie knew that if he even mentioned Dorsey, his stepdad would berate him for being "careless." As if that alone would draw in his mother's suspicions. Eddie's bloodshot eyes and rumbling stomach would be enough on its own.

 _I'm trapped_ , he lamented, fear of what waited for him gluing him to the grass he sat upon. _There's no way I'll get out of this._

" _Eddiieee."_

Eddie jerked his head up from his knees, tear-filled gaze searching the Canal. He thought. . . he thought he'd heard: "Dorey?"

He couldn't see anything in the water, nor in the area surrounding him. Everything was silent, save for his heavy breathing and the chirping of birds. Even if he had heard right, there was no way it could have been his baby brother. Not if his speculations were correct.

When he'd managed to convince himself he really needed to get some sleep, he heard it again: " _Eddiieee._ "

There, at the bottom of the Canal, was Dorsey.

A decaying, melting version of the boy he had once been. His brother's pale skin was heavily mixed with a sickly gray color, bits of it sagging off of his body's tiny frame. Clumps of his black hair were missing, his eyes a milky brown. The side of Dorsey's skull was pulsing, blood and brain matter noisily plopping into the water. A thick layer of dark liquid was caked across his left cheek and ratty pajama top. He looked like a zombie; a creature focused on consuming all forms of life it came across.

But that wasn't what made Eddie shake, made him wish he had never come to the Canal in the first place. Dorsey wore a giant smile, one that someone who made wishes on shooting stars wouldn't be capable of producing. Even if he could, there was no way it would overtake the entire lower part of his face without breaking his jaw.

This. . . this _couldn't_ be Dorsey. This _wasn't_ Dorsey. How could it be?

_But. . . ._

_But. . . ._

_But. . . ._

" _Edddiiieee. Eddie, why did you let him kill me?_ " his brother hissed, a sound that resembled a snake and a singing tea kettle. " _Why would you let me die? You promised you would keep me safe._ "

He wanted to tell him how sorry he was, that he didn't mean to leave him alone. But he couldn't find it in himself to speak without it coming out as a terrified moan.

Pleasure danced in his brother's eyes, giggling at the state he'd managed to bring him to. " _Now it's your turn, big brother._ " Dorsey began to shift forward, a predator ready to pounce upon his prey. " _It's time for you to float!_ "

With a lunge and a scream, his actions jolted Eddie to his feet. He felt his brother's clawed hand scrape his back, missing his shirt by a hair. Wind raced past his ears as he began to run as fast as his legs could carry him. Squeals of joy echoed around Eddie as he picked up the pace. He couldn't let Dorsey catch him. He couldn't find out what he had planned for him, even if he deserved whatever his brother had in mind.

He had just made it to the tree-lined path that would take him home when he felt something leap on top on him, shoving him to the ground. Eddie yelped as his face collided atop the moist dirt where rigid rocks dug into his skin. Desperate, he dug his fingertips into the ground to feebly pull himself forwards. One of his finger nails had managed the break in half, blood oozing from his wound. Something warm and slimy dripped onto his arm. The clear liquid slid downwards, bubbly and foamy. Heart racing, he opened his mouth to cry for help when he felt thousands of needles pierce his neck.

Eddie Corcoran's voice died the moment he felt his head begin to tear from his body.

* * *

 _IT_ watched as Eddie's head rolled down the wood's inclined path, bouncing like a ball made of lead. _IT_ chortled at the sight of _IT_ s latest victim's look of immense fear, gaping like a stunned fish.

Oh, how _IT_ lived for the moment they realized that they could not escape _IT_. It was beautiful and mouth-watering.

The taste of his fleshy neck had sent _IT_ into a state of euphoria, begging _IT_ to consume the boy whole. He was almost as tasty as his brother. _Almost._ Just lacking enough to make _IT_ hold off a little longer on _IT_ s feeding. _IT_ knew that _IT_ needed to be aware of _IT_ s need to stretch _IT_ s food out. _IT_ didn't want to hibernate a year from now on an empty stomach. No sir-e.

 _IT_ grabbed Eddie's decapitated body with _IT_ s now gloved hand. _IT_ playfully slung it across _IT_ s shoulder before dancing towards his head.

_What fun you and I will have, my scrumptious friend._

* * *

Richard Macklin was an abusive asshole through-and-through. At least, that's what his ex-wife had told him on a regular basis. He would beat the living daylights out of her for saying such a thing - which is why she left him.

But that didn't matter. Not when he was married to someone as gorgeous as Monica Corcoran. She'd be hot if it weren't for the wrinkles around her eyes, the baby weight she never managed to shake off, and her kids.

If the boys didn't get on his goddamn nerves, he would have tolerated this. But _oh, no_. The brats had to ruin everything, from his walls (covered in scribbles) to his sleep schedule. So, truly, it was Dorsey's fault that he was dead.

The little shit had pissed the bed and screamed like his hair was on fire. All Richard had seen that fateful night that changed everything was red. He didn't mean to take it as far as he had. He just wanted to teach the boy a lesson. He didn't realize he'd grabbed the hammer he'd left on the kitchen counter until it was too late.

He was done for. If anyone found out that he'd killed his stepson, he'd land his ass in jail, maybe even be sent to the chair.

Richard had thought he'd covered his basis. He had buried the body, got rid of the evidence, and made sure that Eddie kept his goddamn mouth shut. But then Derry Elementary called, wondering when Dorsey would come back. Saying that he wasn't feeling well seemed like a safe enough response until Monica came back. He believed that if he kept his cool, no one would suspect him in the slightest.

That all changed the moment he opened his fridge one Friday evening. There, surrounded by rows of beer, was the head of Eddie, his eyes wide with unspeakable terrors.

* * *

If anyone was asked about Mr. Macklin, they'd almost-always share their thoughts. Some believed that he couldn't handle what might have happened to his stepsons. Others thought that he had killed them and could no longer take the guilt of his actions.

The truth was that Eddie and Dorsey relentlessly haunted their stepfather. They'd whisper unspeakable things into his ears, vowing vengeance upon him for what he did to them. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't think. He'd beg through snot and tears that couldn't fall for them to leave him be. They didn't.

So, he made them stop.

* * *

Monica returned by the end of the week, exhausted and dreading the mood her husband might be in. She hoped to take her sons out for ice cream, to somehow make up for the abuse they suffered while she was away. The moment she reached her porch, she was hit by the scent of decay.

She found her husband dangling in their bedroom closest, flies buzzing around his rotting body. After her bloodcurdling screams alerted her neighbors, she noticed a note on the vanity. Written in giant, black letters were three shaky words: "THERE'S NO ESCAPE."

The following day, she filed a missing persons report for her boys. When what was left of her sons was returned to her months later, she knew her husband's final words were true. That no matter where she went or what she did, the ghosts of those she had lost would always follow her.

She left Derry for good in the winter of 1989.

Monica had hoped that the distance would help her move on from those painful memories. But the further she went, the more she forgot. It was like they had never happened in the first place. . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end of Eddie's story, though he'll be mentioned a few more times throughout the fic. I'm currently writing the next chapter, which I'm aiming to finish in the next couple of weeks. 
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	6. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this took me forever to write. I honestly didn't expect it to take this long.
> 
> We have a few days until Chapter Two is released. I'm so ready. I plan on watching it twice on the sixth, but I'm hoping to also see it on the fifth if my schedule allows it. I also went to the re-release for Chapter One. I loved seeing it in theatres again. I lived and died during the Chapter Two preview.
> 
> I've also made a playlist on Spotify that helps me spark my muse. They're all songs that remind me of Bright. If you're interested in giving it a listen, check out i-am-cloud-writes on Tumblr.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own IT. Stephen King does.

By the end of the school week, Kimmy could happily say that she'd found a routine she could see herself sticking to. Her and Ben would quietly leave Aunt Jean's by six. Zelda would then meet them at Derry Middle School twenty minutes before eight in order to walk with Kimmy towards the high school. After school let out for the day, she would join Ben at the library, where they would remain until dinner. Afterwards, she would spend the rest of the night in her room - away from everyone who she would rather not speak to.

She would have gone back to the tree by the synagogue, but Stan wouldn't be able to join her until Saturday. Between homework, Boy Scouts, and hanging out with his friends, the quiet - yet sassy - boy didn't have much time to spare. Part of her wished that she had the excuse of a busy schedule, too. Anything that she could further use as an excuse to stay as far away from her aunt and cousin as possible.

Fridays were still open for Kimmy, which is why she and Zelda had made plans a few days prior for a sleep-over. She would already be with her, but she had volleyball practice until five.

"What are you reading?"

Kimmy glanced up at her brother, his sight focused on what was lying before her. She imagined it might have looked a bit all over the place, the way she had her area set up. A sketchbook, bigger than most of the books the siblings had out, sat open with bits of used eraser scattered carelessly around it. A glossy paperback and tattered pencil case sat at its top to keep it from turning at the most inconvenient moment. If Ben looked close enough, he'd be able to see the traces of silver shimmering on the tips of her fingers.

"A bird book _,_ " she replied, returning to the sketch she was in the middle of. It was of a Belted Kingfisher, a funny little creature with an impressive blue mohawk and a long, thick beak.

She'd taken up Stan's suggestion about checking out one of the bird books the Derry Public Library had. There weren't many, about five or so, but it was more than enough for Kimmy to choose from. Out of the ones available, she liked the looks of _Peterson Field Guide to Birds_ the most. The drawings within it looked dainty, carefully applied to paper for all to see. It was simple enough to use as a reference for her drawings and a way to get to know Stan a bit more.

Kimmy hoped to have a few pages done by Saturday so she could surprise him. He seemed to like her drawings, especially the one with the robins she saw the day they met. The thought of his light brown eyes lighting up with excitement motivated her to get as many done as she could. She had even gone as far as to write the name and at least one fact about each bird once she'd finished drawing them.

The first bird she'd looked up was the hummingbird Stan liked. She had felt her breath catch in her throat the moment she found its page. The colors were gorgeous, with its deep reds and vibrant green feathers. It made her think of a peaceful fall day, like the leaves she saw during the time her family had lived in Wisconsin.

"How about you?" she asked, curious about what Ben had chosen.

He held up the hardback he was skimming through; a dark green hardback titled _The State of_ _Maine_.

She should have known. It was a hobby of Ben's to do research about the towns and states they lived in. He liked to get a better understanding about the place they'd call home for who knew how long. A part of them knew that he could read every book the library had twice, and they'd still have no moving date in sight.

"Is it any good?"

Ben shrugged. "Kind of."

Which meant he found it not as interesting as he had hoped. Typical Ben, not wanting to offend anyone - be they real or not. She found it an admirable trait for someone to have, even though they didn't always get straight to the point.

Before they could return to their projects, someone plopped down in the empty seat next to Kimmy.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," said Zelda, tiny beads of water clinging to her forehead. "Coach wanted us to work on our spikes."

"That's, uh, okay," Kimmy replied, cheeks growing warm and tight the longer she and Zelda held eye contact. "I, um, don't mind."

Zelda sent the blushing teen a dazzling smile, making her head spin. It made her feel like she was standing in the middle of a hyperactive merry-go-round, its speed increasing with each passing second.

Her attention shifted downwards. "Oh, wow. Did you draw all those?"

Kimmy couldn't think of a response that didn't make her sound like a moron. Instead, she opted for a head nod.

"Can I take a look?" she asked, pointing at the page Kimmy had yet to finish.

Part of her wanted to say yes, and she almost did. That is, until she remembered the drawings she'd done of Zelda a few nights back - when she couldn't get her off of her mind.

"No!" Kimmy slammed the sketchbook shut, bending over it protectively.

The drawings weren't inappropriate, but there were enough of them to make any sane person feel concerned. Another part of her didn't want anyone, not even her brother, to lay eyes on them. Kimmy liked having the close-up portraits of Zelda to herself, a fact that she'd prefer to take to her grave.

Kimmy peered holes into the sketchbook while Zelda and Ben looked at her like she was a raving maniac.

"O-kay. Sorry I asked," was Zelda's response.

Wanting to get this embarrassing moment over with, Kimmy hurriedly shoved her things into her bag. Some of it took her a few times - they either got stuck in some of the folds or sloppily missed a portion of the opening.

Zelda reached out a hand and gripped it around her arm. "Hey, hey, hey, slow down. I didn't mean to upset you."

Kimmy froze, muscles tense from the skin to skin contact. Her sight was drawn to her classmate's long, nimble fingers. She could see the tips of her gnawed fingertips. They had a yellow tint, no doubt from the cigarettes Kimmy had been made aware of the other day. They had been hiding in the girl's bathroom when Zelda offered her a smoke. She'd been surprised at first, seeing someone the same age as her in possession of a pack of Camels. Kimmy had nearly coughed up a lung after her first and only inhale of cigarette smoke.

 _You didn't_ , she wanted to tell her. _I'm just_ _so utterly_ _and completely nervous every time you blink in my direction._

As much as she wanted to let Zelda know everything that crossed her mind, she wasn't sure if she felt the same way. The last thing she needed was for someone to spread around this small-minded town that the new kid had a crush on a girl. The thought of being run out of town terrified her.

She could live with society hating her, but her family. . . .

Kimmy wouldn't be able to make it without Ben in her life. She hadn't even told him that she felt things for men and women. If he resented her for who she was attracted to, her very core would crumble to near nothingness. Kimmy needed her sweet baby brother more than anyone else.

"We should, uh, we should get going."

Without waiting for a response, she ruffled Ben's hair and practically sprinted away. With each step she took, she could feel the heat on her face spread viciously throughout her body. She only stopped when Zelda called out, "You don't even know where I live!"

As if she wasn't already enough of an idiot.

* * *

"Guys, I'm home!" Zelda called out once she and Kimmy made their way indoors.

Patches, who had been the first to greet them, kept nudging his wet nose against Zelda's hand. The coonhound's whines for attention only grew louder the longer he was ignored.

"Hush," she reprimanded the dog, gently shoving his muzzle away from her.

Getting the hint that he wouldn't get anywhere, he _harrumphed_ and lazily trotted towards the kitchen.

"I like your dog," said Kimmy, watching the dejected hound's tail disappear.

"Yeah, he's great, as long as he doesn't get up in everyone's business."

The floors shook with rapid footsteps when a group of kids rushed out from what looked like the living room.

"Zelda!" they exclaimed in not-so-perfect unison before tackling the blonde teen.

She grunted from the impact and lovingly wrapped her arms around her siblings. "Hey, you troublemakers," Zelda laughed.

"Who's she?" asked a boy with chocolate dried around his mouth, a grubby finger pointed in Kimmy's direction.

This caused the remaining siblings to look her way, drawing an uncomfortable grin from her.

Zelda lifted the youngest of the bunch, another boy who just reached his sister's knees. "This is my friend. Her name is Kimmy. She's going to be spending the night. Kimmy, these are my siblings. Well, most of them."

She then proceeded to point out who was who to Kimmy. The boy Zelda held was Xavier. Daniel was the boy who had asked who she was. A girl with pigtails the shade of fresh straw was Kathy. Zelda's other brother, Levi, was upstairs in his room.

"Mom say when dinner's ready?" she asked, the sound of Xavier's squeals of delight filling the room as he was turned upside down.

Kathy and Daniel shook their heads.

Zelda tilted her head towards the kitchen and called out, "Mom! How much longer?!"

The response they received was an annoyed, "An hour!"

Kimmy looked at Zelda with wide, worried eyes. They'd miss their movie if that were so. This soon turned to confusion when the Waynes giggled like hyenas.

"Don't worry," assured Zelda. "It's a joke. We say that when we don't feel like answering. She'll probably be done in about ten."

"Oh."

Xavier pulled on his oldest sister's sleeve, thumb in mouth. "Sissy! Sissy!"

"Brother! Brother!" Zelda said, putting his wet thumb by his side.

"Can we play games?"

"Whatta you wanna play?"

"Old Maid!"

"Sure."

Wiggling like an over-eager puppy, Xavier jumped out of Zelda's arms. He made haste towards the room he'd been in minutes ago, remembering seconds later to grab on to Zelda and drag her towards where he wanted to go. Daniel and Kathy rushed ahead, leaving Kimmy behind.

Wisps of Zelda's golden hair floated in the air while her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "You can join us, you know," she remarked, sending Kimmy yet another dazzling smile.

Kimmy felt her knees weaken at the sight of her. She wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, that she was swept back to the moment they met whenever Pink Floyd was played on the radio.

But for now, she was happy to nod her head before joining them in a semi-intense round of Old Maid.

* * *

Dinner with the Wayne family was an entertaining experience. The entire affair was loud, full of banter, and consisted of utensils _clanging_ against plates. It was perhaps the liveliest meal she'd ever been part of.

"Do you like your spaghetti?" asked Mrs. Wayne, blue eyes peering at Kimmy from across the crowded table.

Kimmy twirled the pasta around her fork, watching as a chunky tomato fell from its metal twines. "It's delicious."

The middle-aged woman smiled; her wrinkles even more prominent than they already were.

By looks alone, Kimmy could tell that Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were approaching their early fifties. Their blonde hair was streaked with powder gray and both wore tacky, thick glasses.

"They had me in their thirties," Zelda would later remark as they made their way to the Capitol Theatre. "They had some trouble for a few years, since they were older than most new parents. It made them think that they were infertile."

"And now they have five kids."

Zelda would nod in agreement, a slight smile tugging the corners of her lips. "And now they have five kids."

"We got an invite to Rachel's party today," remarked Mrs. Wayne nonchalantly.

Mr. Wayne grunted in response. Kathy, Daniel, and Xavier looked at each other with giddy excitement. Zelda and Levi frowned at this news.

"Really? They want us there?" asked Zelda, brows brought up in uncertainty.

"Apparently."

Kimmy was curious about what was going on but opted to remain silent. She knew the look of relatives who didn't get along with each other. That was something she'd become an expert on over the week.

Sensing this, Zelda sent Kimmy a look that read 'are you in for something juicy.' "I'll tell you later," she whispered, soft enough that Kimmy had almost missed it.

"Are we gonna go?" asked Kathy, bouncing on the edge of her seat, fork tilted dangerously high above her plate.

"Mind your fork, Kathy," Mrs. Wayne said, getting the younger girl to obey almost instantly. "We're not sure yet. Your dad and I will have to talk about it first."

Kathy's face fell, as did Xavier's and Daniel's. Even though she was out of the loop, Kimmy couldn't help but feel awful. She remembered what it was like to love family members who turned out to be shitty people. Hopefully it wasn't as serious of an issue as it sounded.

"Kimmy, I heard you recently moved here," said Mr. Wayne, putting salad onto his already too-full plate. "Where did you come from?"

"Houston."

"Oh, I love Houston!" exclaimed Mrs. Wayne, leaning forward on her elbows as her gaze twinkled in the dining room light. "I used to go there with my college roommates during spring break. We spent a lot of time in the Montrose area. In fact, we got our first tattoos at -"

"Mom," hissed Zelda, sending Mrs. Wayne a 'stop talking' glare.

Mrs. Wayne rolled her eyes. "I'm not the only adult who has a tattoo, Zelda."

"Yes, but the story about where you got it will scar her for life."

"Stop being so dramatic."

" _I'm_ being dramatic? You're the one who -"

"Don't you girls have a movie to catch?" interrupted Mr. Wayne, lightly tapping the scuffed watch on his dominant wrist. "You know, with that Tom Bruiser fellow?"

Having snapped out of the argument, Zelda noticed how nervous Kimmy and her siblings looked. A deep frown appeared, the innermost angles of her brows pinching inwards. "Yeah, we do." Without checking if her friend was ready to go, Zelda sprung out of her chair and made her way towards the front door. "You coming, Kimmy?"

At the sound of her nickname, she sprang into action. "Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Wayne."

Mrs. Wayne merely nodded her head, stubbornly peering at what remained of her meal.

"Don't stay out too late," said Mr. Wayne, pointing his knife in his daughter's direction.

"We won't," responded Zelda, rocking back and forth on her feet. "Kimmy! Film!"

Kimmy followed her crush out into the early evening, the heavy door slamming shut behind them.

* * *

Since the moment her father took her to see a showing of _True Grit_ at the age of four, Kimmy loved going to the movies. For her, it was a magical and sacred experience. Though it wasn't always the case, she loved being part of a crowd who became silent the moment they were encased in darkness. She loved the buttery specks of light that lined the aisles and the giant screen that towered before her. With the occasions she had enough money to buy treats from the concessions, she became a completely mesmerized teen.

She must have drooled when she saw the glittering marque because she heard Zelda chuckle.

"If I knew it was this easy to amuse you, I would have brought you here sooner."

Kimmy felt heat rush up to her cheeks, tearing her attention away from where it had been focused on. Her beaten tennis shoes were easier to look at than the girl standing next to her. "Yeah, um, I, uh, really like movies."

 _'I really_ _like movies?' God, I sound like such a loser._

"Especially ones that include that 'Tom Bruiser?'"

Her shoulders began to drop back to their normal height. The idea of berating herself for every stupid thing she said around Zelda pushed to the back of her mind. "Totally."

After paying for their tickets and grabbing snacks, they made their way to one of the two showing rooms. Kimmy didn't mind, even though it did limit the number of movies that made their way to Derry. She'd once been to a theatre that had one measly room for twenty people to sit in.

"This used to be one giant theatre, but they separated them ten years ago," Zelda explained. "At first, people lost their minds. Once they realized that they weren't limited in their movie options, they gradually became fine with it."

Kimmy hummed in response before taking a sip of her Coca-Cola Cherry.

They sat down in the middle of the fifth row. Having settled in, Kimmy tore open her box of Milk Duds and poured the candy into her container of popcorn. As she shook them up, thinking of nothing but her favorite treat, Zelda looked at it with disbelief.

"What are you doing?" she asked, causing Kimmy to stop what she was doing.

"Huh?"

Zelda pointed at her hands. "You put Milk Duds in there."

"Oh. . . ." Kimmy felt her stomach begin to pool with self-consciousness, her brain struggling to figure out what to say next. "Yeah. It's, um, my favorite."

"Is it good?"

Kimmy nodded her head, holding her food out for Zelda to take. "The popcorn makes the chocolate warm and soft."

Zelda slowly grabbed a small handful and slowly put it inside of her mouth. Kimmy watched with bated breath as she waited for the verdict. In all honesty, she didn't care if others agreed that it was delicious. Another part of her told her that if Zelda spat it out in disgust it would be the end of the world.

A smile spread across Zelda, a spark of interest going off within her eyes. "This is really good! Why didn't I think of doing this before?"

Laughter was the response she was given. Relief pushed aside the worry that had overtaken Kimmy. It patted her on the back for getting away with something that she didn't need to fret about in the first place.

"I know, right?!" she exclaimed, giddy from head-to-toe.

For a moment, her glee was so strong that the first thing that ran across her mind was: "I've got to tell Dad!" But then she remembered with an ache that that wasn't possible.

"You okay?" she heard Zelda ask, drawing her out of her melancholic thoughts.

Kimmy jerked to attention, attempting to give her the best 'I'm great, how about you?' smile she could muster. To further make sure that they didn't linger on her state of mind, she blurted out, "What's your favorite movie?!"

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Zelda didn't seem to care that she was sitting next to a clearly nervous teen, for she answered, "I don't know. I really don't have one. I can't remember its name, but that one movie with the guy and that weird as fuck alien baby was cool. You know, the one with the lady who sings through the radiator and the pencil factory?"

" _Eraserhead_?" she asked, hoping that she was wrong in her assumptions.

"Yeah! That's the one. Have you seen it?"

She felt herself freeze at the mention of it, her lips drawing into themselves. Of course, her crush's favorite movie would be her least favorite. She took another sip of her drink, face crinkled.

"You hate it, don't you?"

By her laughter, Kimmy could tell that she was more amused than hurt. She couldn't even imagine anything as trivial as this upsetting her. She seemed too easygoing for something like this to upset her.

"It freaks me out," Kimmy admitted, whispering as if afraid that those around them would gasp in shock. "The boy carrying the main character's head, everything about the baby. I had nightmares for a month after watching it."

"You were scared of the baby?" she asked, eyes wide as if she didn't recognize her friend anymore. "Didn't you feel sorry for it?"

Kimmy tried to shrug it off like it wasn't a big deal that she didn't have a heart. "It's just so. . . terrifying. I don't know. I can't look at it without feeling like it has something evil planned."

"It couldn't help it. It's not like it asked to be born like that."

"What? In pain?"

"Oh, so you _do_ admit that it was writhing in pain the entire time."

Kimmy hid behind the strands of her hair that had managed to escape from her scrunchie. "I never said that it wasn't."

Just as Zelda was about to put in another two cents, the lights dimmed, and the screen began to project the trailers. This got her to let off, to not make Kimmy feel like an even shittier person. She sank into her seat, her cheeks burning like they had the most unforgivable sunburn.

* * *

 _Cocktail_ proved itself to be a cheesy, yet enjoyable, film. Well, from what she'd managed to see, anyway. Kimmy tried to pay attention to what was going on, but that proved to be difficult every now and again. If Zelda moved her hand to grab some more Milk Dud Popcorn, she'd find herself looking at her crush's arm. Whenever she softly laughed, Kimmy found herself smiling like a kid who found out they had a snow day. She even heard Zelda sing "Kokomo" under her breath as the scene played out before them. She couldn't look at her or stop looking at her all at once.

Kimmy wished she could find it in herself to ask Zelda if she felt the same way. If she found it hard to focus and not stumble about like a chicken with its head cut-off. She hated how having a crush on someone turned her into a silly schoolgirl.

As the credits rolled, the lights slowly began to brighten. The handful of people around the friends began to make their way towards the exit, chatting away. Kimmy continued to stare ahead, barely paying attention to the song that was playing.

"So, what did you think?" Zelda asked, the sound of her voice bringing Kimmy out of whatever trance she'd found herself in.

For a moment, she didn't know how to respond. Their eyes locked, hazel staring in blue. Kimmy thought of nothing but the feel of Zelda's fingers brushing against her own for the past two hours.

"I thought it was. . . good."

Zelda smiled, gaze dancing with some unspoken thing. "Me, too."

* * *

"My mom and aunt couldn't agree who got to use the family name," said Zelda, leaning against her bed's headboard.

Pop music softly played from Zelda's beaten boombox, giving the room a comfy feeling. Something that didn't quite match the tone of their conversation.

"Family name?"

"The oldest girl of each generation gets to be named Zelda," she explained. "My mom's cousin and aunt share the same name as me. So does my cousin, even though I was technically born first. My aunt is pissed that my parents had the audacity to do that. So, there's four living Zelda's in my family."

"Isn't that -"

"Confusing? Surprisingly, not really. The invitation we got is a bit weird, though. We haven't talked to them in years."

Fearing she'd pushed this topic farther than it should have been, Kimmy bounced off of the bed. She made her way towards the boombox, the tips of her feet lightly pressed into the carpeted floor.

"How about you? You got any relatives that piss you off?"

She'd hoped that Zelda wouldn't ask, but a part of her had suspected that it was bound to come up the moment Rachel's birthday was brought up.

"My aunt and cousin."

"The ones you live with?"

"Unfortunately," she confirmed, flipping indecisively between channels.

A low whistle came from the blonde teen. "Man, that would be my own personal hell."

With a roll of her eyes, Kimmy dryly said, "Gee, thanks for making me feel better,"

She bit her lip. Did she _really_ say that? It seemed that Stan had managed to rub off on her.

The sound of feet walking towards her at a less considerate volume filled the air. She felt herself jump in place when a hand gently pressed against her shoulder. Strands of blonde hair fell near her face, the scent of almonds and coconuts invading her nostrils. Her body stilled, refusing to move as she took in how incredibly close Zelda was - closer than she'd ever been.

And she thought sitting next to her was the ultimate test of keeping her chaotic emotions in check.

"Kimmy?"

". . . Yeah?"

Zelda stopped on a channel that was playing a familiar tune: "Take My Breath Away" by Berlin. It was something that Kimmy hadn't listened to since the year it came out.

"I asked if you liked this song?"

"Uh, yeah. I do."

For a moment, Kimmy felt a spark pass between them - alive and burning. Turning her head upwards, she could see that their noses were inches away. Up close, Kimmy noticed the finer details that were easily missed. Like how the bridge of her nose had a splash of freckles, that the light made her eyelashes nearly invisible, and that her eyes had hints of platinum scattered about their irises.

It was a wonder how she managed not to swoon into a dramatic faint.

And then she felt Zelda's fingers slowly run up and down her arm. They were pressed just deep enough for Kimmy to know of their presence. Beads of sweat formed beneath her hairline. She felt her heart pound against her chest as the hands of her crush wrapped themselves around hers. This. . . isn't how girls who were friends acted around each other. . . right? Was she imagining this because she wanted Zelda to like her, too, or was it as real as she longed for it to be?

That's when Zelda began to slowly move her head downwards. . . towards Kimmy.

When she dared to close her eyes, ready for their lips to connect, someone loudly knocked. Kimmy's back roughly hit the table behind her, shooting a slight wave of discomfort up her spine. The trinkets atop it frantically shook, a few even going as far to tumble onto the floor.

Zelda stood close to the center of her room, rubbing her fingers around her eyes as if trying to restrain herself from screaming herself horse. "Yeah?"

Not a moment later, Mrs. Wayne stood before them in a fluffy pink robe and matching slippers. A cigarette was held between two of her fingers, its pungent scent billowing its way into the bedroom. "You girls heading to bed soon?" she asked, her tone hinting that they should consider doing so.

Kimmy managed to catch a glimpse of the time and was surprised to see that it was nearing 10:30.

The much more put-together girl signed with poorly withheld exasperation. "Okay. We'll shut up. Good-night, Mom."

Mrs. Wayne's focus landed on Kimmy, who hadn't dared to move from where she sat. "Need anything before lights out?" she asked as kindly as she could care to muster.

"No. Thank you, Mrs. Wayne."

With a nod and a final 'get to bed' glare aimed at her daughter, Mrs. Wayne closed the door and left the two alone. For a moment, they were silent as Terri Nunn's voice reached the end of the song. Kimmy had no idea what to do, what to say. How does someone break the ice and ask if they were going to try to kiss again? Did Zelda even want it anymore, let alone have meant it in the first place?

"Hey, Kimmy -"

Said teen shot up, back straight and blurry gaze focused on anything but Zelda's face. "Be right back," she said, grabbing her backpack on the way out.

She didn't stop until she'd reached the safety of the bathroom, backpack hugged tightly against her chest. Tears of frustration fell down her cheeks, trying her best to process what the fuck had just happened.

* * *

As luck would have it, the minute Kimmy's thoughts allowed her to sleep, a huge crack of thunder shocked her awake. She felt her body begin to tremble the second she was able to register what was going on.

A rainstorm, heavy and unforgiving, was accompanied by a boisterous chorus of lighting. Though it had rained off-and-on during her first week in Derry, it had yet to do something like this. Of course, it would be the night she was away from her brother, somewhere where no one knew how to calm her down. This. . . this was -

She yelped when a hateful crack and flash of light found its way through the closed curtains. Acting on instinct, Kimmy buried herself deep beneath the covers of her friend's bed. The urge to cry increased with each shaky breath she took. For the first time in months, she began to pray to every force in the universe to make it stop, to make it pass along. When that didn't work, she tried to force herself back to sleep, but another bout of thunder made that impossible.

Why couldn't Ben be here? Why couldn't this have waited until another day? Why couldn't she get over her childish fears? Why did things have to suck?

When something warm touched her, she nearly fell out of bed, only to realize that it was a very much asleep Zelda's arm.

_How can she sleep through this?!_

For a second, she considered shaking her awake. To have someone to hold on to, to help her feel safe. But what if she thought she was even crazier than she already was? What if she told her to stop being such a wuss and to get over it? Because of this, she could only find it in herself to tentatively grab hold of Zelda's hand. It twitched a little in protest but otherwise remained unmoving.

As the storm ragged on, Kimmy repeatedly hummed beneath her breath "Take My Breath Away," never stopping.

It was only when she heard birds begin to chirp that she was able to fall into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like, let me know what you think of this chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts. I'd also like to thank those who have bookmarked this fic or left a kudo.
> 
> The next chapter will finally begin Bright's journey into the film, but it's going to be a sad one. Oh, god, I'm dreading it.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	7. Georgie Denbrough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I saw Chapter Two three times in a span of twenty-four hours. I had to restrain myself from seeing it a fourth time, considering I only have so much money.
> 
> I obviously liked it enough to see it more than once, but I thought that Chapter One was better. I loved seeing the adult cast, as well as the flashbacks with the kid cast. Not going to spoil anything, but I will say that it was missing something. No idea what, though.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> This takes place two weeks after the last chapter. There's also a not too noticeable spoiler for Chapter Two. Read with caution if you have yet to see the second film.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: As you can see by the chapter's title, we have entered that unfortunate scene. Be prepared for the death of a child, as well as mentions of gore and amputation.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own IT. Stephen King does.

Like most Sunday mornings, Georgie awoke to the sound of his mother's piano – it's hypnotically soothing notes tempting him to sleep most of the morning away. Then he noticed the _plinking_ sound of rain tapping against his window. He didn't think much of it at first, dismissing Derry's typical weather. That soon changed to boredom when his father informed him that it wouldn't let up for quite some time.

"Billy!" he called out as he rushed into his brother's room. "Billy!"

His big brother was sitting on his bed, in the middle of rubbing his eyes awake. He jerked his head in Georgie's direction, gaze glossy and a faint red. "Georgie? What's wrong?"

Georgie clumsily plopped down in front of Bill; his puppy dog brown eyes filled with dejection. After he managed to fold his legs beneath himself, Georgie announced, "It's raining."

"So?"

"I'm bored!" A thrilling idea came to Georgie, causing him to wiggle in place as his gaze began to twinkle with excitement. "Will you play with me?"

"G-G-Georgie -"

" _Please_ , Bill? Please, please, _please_?"

A heavy sigh, like the one their dad had given him when asked the same question, left Bill. "I can't."

Georgie's lips, still tinted yellow from the juice he'd sipped from his favorite cup minutes prior, fell downwards. "Why not?"

If Georgie had been a few years older, he would have noticed the panic that had flashed across Bill's face. Perhaps he would have pointed this out, asked what was wrong. But he hadn't. Instead, he repeated, "Why not, Bill?"

"B-b-because I'm. . . not feeling well."

Disappointment turned into concern, causing Georgie to shift even closer to Bill. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I will if you let me s-s-sleep," assured Bill, attempting to pull his duvet further up his body. It hardly moved an inch. "We can p-p-play another time."

Even though he did want Bill to get better, he was upset that he had to entertain himself some other way. The pinprick feeling ringing in his chest made it even harder to accept this unwanted fact.

"Why don't you go outside? I can make you a paper b-b-boat. You could race it."

The thought of his big brother making him a new toy turned his frown upside down. An image of it splashing down the street came to mind, of it facing the biggest waves and breezing past a multitude of floating debris. Just like all the best army ships – tall, mighty, unstoppable. It made him eager to get outside; only to soon remember the rule that his parents would never let him break.

"Mom and Dad'll say no."

It was true. He wasn't allowed to go outside without them his parents or Bill. If he wanted to play in the front yard, one of his parents would need to watch him from the living room window or the porch. But his mom was in the middle of playing piano and wouldn't stop until it was time for lunch. That was hours away, and Georgie couldn't stand to wait that long. He'd burst with anticipation if had to sit around a second more.

"Don't tell them, then."

Georgie looked at Bill as if he'd suggested that he break their mom's fanciest teapot. "They'll be mad at me," he said in a near murmur, as if there was someone listening to them just outside the closed door.

"No, they won't."

Before Georgie could protest again, Bill got up and began searching for something. One by one, he gathered the supplies he would need to make a paper boat. He had a sketchbook, tape, pens, and – in case they needed them – scissors. He shooed Georgie off the bed, placing down his craft gear once the younger boy he did as he was told.

While Bill began his latest project, effortlessly folding it this way and that, Georgie peered outside. A light fog had coated some of the window he stood before, which he used to draw a smiley face.

_Now Bill has someone to look out for him._

"Sure I won't get in trouble, Bill?" he asked for the thousandth time, gazing at his sibling with worry.

"Don't be such a w-w-wuss. I'd come with you if I weren't -" a loud, dry cough interrupted him - "dying," he finished, giving Georgie a pitiful look.

Now it was Georgie's turn to sigh at how silly his brother was acting. "You're not dying!"

"You didn't s-s-see the vomit that was coming out of my nose last night?" Bill responded with a tone that made it sound as if he were offended.

"That's disgusting," Georgie said, not particularly remembering this.

Perhaps it had happened after he had gone to bed?

"Okay. Go get the wax."

His little heart felt as if it had skipped a beat at the mention of what he'd hoped he had heard incorrectly. "In the cellar?"

"You want it to f-f-float, don't you?"

He wanted to tell Bill to do it instead, that he could wait for him while he fetched it. But that wouldn't have been fair to make him get up, him being sick and all. Considering that Bill could tell him he wouldn't be getting his paper boat after all, he knew he wouldn't win this one.

If only he could make one himself, but he didn't know how. Bill had teased him at first about how bad his attempts at making them were. When he saw how much Georgie's lower lip quivered, he'd stopped and offered to make him as many paper boats as he wanted.

There was also the fact that the rainwater would turn it into a gray-white puddle of goop if it didn't get a coating of wax.

"Fine," he said, head bowed in defeat.

On his way out, dreading what was soon to come, he grabbed a walkie-talkie. With a pointed look that told Bill to grab hold of the spare next to his bed, Georgie began to make his way downstairs.

* * *

Bill humorously smiled at his brother's retreating form. He would have gotten the wax himself, but he knew that Georgie needed to face his fear of their cellar head-on. Their dad would probably tell him a few years from now that he needed to 'man up' and get over it, anyway.

And then there was that other factor, the thing that would give him away if he moved too much. . . .

_Two birds with one stone._

He loved Georgie, he really did, but sometimes he wished he could get a moment to himself. To not have to tell him the stories he was tired of reciting from memory or give up spending time with his friends because his parents needed a babysitter.

A stuffy _pop_ greeted Bill when he uncapped his permanent marker, making sure to avoid the black ink that tended to stubbornly latch onto skin. While he wrote S.S. Georgie on the paper boat's side, the drawing on his window faded away into nothingness.

* * *

Georgie began to regret wanting that paper boat the moment the cellar door stared him down. Thoughts of telling Bill that they were out of wax, that he was fine with the wear and tear it would no doubt endure, attempted to entice him into retreating. But the look of disappointment Bill was bound to give him pushed Georgie to continue onward.

Heavy breathing stuffed his ears as he peered unsurely down the creaking stairs. He hated walking on them because he always felt like there was a monster hiding underneath, longing to wrap their twig-like fingers around his ankles.

The _screech_ of his walkie-talkie shocked him back to reality.

" _Georgie. Hurry up_ ," Bill impatiently said, voice _crackling_

The seven-year-old boy pressed his body against the wall that held the light switch. Even though it didn't get rid of his fear, the lights made facing the cellar a slightly easier feat. Worry began to eat him when he found that is usual comfort wasn't working, urgently _clinking_ the switch a few more times before giving up.

Georgie nervously gulped.

If he wanted his new toy, he needed to act fast.

"Okay. I'm brave," he whispered, pressing his clammy palms against the doorframe.

He took one step at a time, testing to see if he was right about the monster. If nothing happened, he'd continue forward. When Georgie finally reached the bottom, he noticed that the darkness surrounding him was broken by a few faint streams of sunlight. It wasn't much, but it did allow him to see the layout of the dank room.

"Where's the wax?" the small boy asked no one as he scanned the shelf covered by knickknacks and extra supplies. "There's the wax," he said in relief once he spotted the box of Gulf Wax.

More than ready to leave, Georgie turned.

A pair of scorching, yellow spheres unblinkingly gazed at him, drawing a whimper from the boy as he clutched the box of wax close to his chest.

_The monster!_

It was _watching_ him, _waiting_ for him.

Quickly, he grabbed a flashlight and shakily _clicked_ it on, pointing it in the direction of the orbs; only to learn that it was just a couple of light bulbs, both patiently waiting for the day that they would be used.

Thunder clapped in the distance, starling Georgie into making a mad dash for the kitchen.

"This is bad! Oh, jeez!"

He didn't bother to close the door behind him, nor did he hear the indistinct, giddy laughter that answered him.

* * *

"Alright. There you go," announced Bill, holding the S.S. Georgie up in the air. "S-s-she's all ready, Captain."

Taking the newly sealed toy, Georgie asked, "'She?'"

"You always call b-b-boats 'she," Bill said, smiling.

Georgie returned it with a smile of his own. "'She," he said, letting it leave his tongue like it was the most important thing he'd ever been told. "Thanks, Billy."

He wrapped his arms around his brother's neck, leaning into him. It wasn't often that the two hugged. One of them would usually shove the other off, telling them to 'stop' or 'get lost.' But this wasn't one of those times. Georgie relished the hug, truly grateful for what Bill had done for him, giggling when he felt his stomach being tickled.

After grabbing his walkie-talkie from Bill's desk, Georgie merrily skipped away. "See you later!" he called over his shoulder.

Once he'd slipped into his rain gear, Georgie quietly made his way outdoors. At the end of their driveway, he turned and waved at Bill's window – sending a giant, enthusiastic grin his way.

" _Be careful_ ," reminded Bill's voice through the staticky speaker.

And then he was off, chasing the S.S. Georgie as she made her way down the stream of water that hugged the cracked curbs.

* * *

"What a nice boat," the strange clown purred. "Do you want it back?"

Georgie stared at the clown in the sewer, too unsure to look away – yearning for the S.S. Georgie. He hadn't meant for her to get away, but she had been too fast, falling into the sewer drain before he could reach her.

That's when the clown appeared.

At first, Georgie thought the eyes that stared up at him were the same ones he'd seen in the cellar. When the clown stepped into the light, he realized that they were a friendly blue instead of an unnerving gold.

"Um, yes, please," he shakily said.

"You look like a nice boy," the clown hummed. "I bet you have a lot of friends."

"Three, but my brother's my best-est."

"Where is he?" the clown asked, tilting his head sideways.

"In bed. Sick."

The clown's crimson lips parted to reveal smooth, luminous buckteeth. "I bet I could cheer him up!" he helpfully declared. "I'll give him a balloon."

Georgie sensed that something was wrong, that he should leave. But his innocence - one that still had enough optimism to face the day with a beaming smile - won, keeping him in place.

"Do you want a balloon, too, Georgie?"

"I'm not supposed to take stuff from strangers," he informed the clown.

"Oh, well, I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown!" the clown said. Bells jingled within his orange hair when he lightheartedly shook his head. "'Pennywise.' 'Yes?' 'Meet Georgie.' 'Georgie, meet Pennywise.'"

Georgie laughed at the way the clown said this. It was as if he were a grown-up _and_ a child, both serious and funny.

"Now we aren't strangers, are we?"

"What are you doing in the sewer?"

"A storm blew me away. Blew the whole circus away," Pennywise chuckled. "Can you smell the circus, Georgie?"

A puff of wind met Georgie's nose, warm and comforting. At first, he could vaguely smell things, unable to recognize anything familiar. With each curious sniff the young boy took, though, the stronger they became. Soon, Georgie could detect dew-covered grass, animal dung, and greasy treats. It made him want to lean closer to see if there really was a whole circus down there.

"There's peanuts, cotton candy, hot dogs, and. . . ?"

That's when it hit him. The strongest of all the scents. His most favorite snack, buttery and salty and crunchy: "Popcorn?"

"Popcorn!" confirmed Pennywise. "Is that your favorite?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Mine, too," Pennywise enthusiastically chortled. "Because they _pop_! _Pop_ , _pop_ , _pop_!"

The two giggled, as if one of them had told the other the funniest joke, exchanging ' _pop_ 's back-and-forth until Pennywise abruptly stopped. A low growl rumbled in the clown's throat. It was far too much like the one his neighbor's dog had once given him, warning him to leave him be.

And his eyes. . . . They had become distant and rather frightening, one of them shifting off to the side. He had a look of want in his eyes, enough to remind Georgie that he shouldn't be here, that not every person he met was always nice.

"Um," he droned, struggling for something to say that wouldn't offend the clown. "I should get going."

"Oh!" said Pennywise, stopping Georgie from leaving. "Without your boat?" The S.S. Georgie came back into view, inviting him to get it back. "You don't want to lose it, Georgie. Bill's gonna kill you."

It was that reminder, that sinking feeling of making Bill mad, that glued the boy where he was. There was no way he could leave now, knowing that he had a chance to make sure this didn't happen.

Georgie had been so focused on this that he didn't notice how largely menacing Pennywise's smile had become.

"Here. Take it," Pennywise growled. "Take it, Georgie."

Against his better judgment, Georgie inched forward, reaching his hand into the sewer drain.

* * *

It shouldn't have been that much of a surprise to Zelda when her mom forced her to walk their dog in the pouring rain. Then again, when didn't she make her do something she rather wouldn't? Had it been sunny, she would have put up less of a fuss. Apparently, her mom didn't care that Patches' fur would soon smell disgusting. Knowing her luck, Zelda would have to deal with this, too.

Patches didn't seem to mind getting wet, though. If he wasn't being forced into a bathtub, he was more than happy to romp around in grimy puddles to his heart's content. The coonhound gladly led his owner down the route they usually took, lightly panting.

Beneath her umbrella, one that hardly failed at keeping her dry, Zelda managed to light a cigarette. The familiar pungent scent greeted her before the smoke lazily let itself out into the gray morning. The nice thing about dogs was that they couldn't rat her out, nor did they know of the rules that she had to follow.

"Hey, get going," she warned Patches when he stopped to glare at a tabby cat who'd locked eyes with him.

With a few more firm tugs of the leash, and a whine of displeasure, the hound complied.

"Good boy, Patches," she said, scratching one of his floppy ears.

He leaned into her touch before sneezing from the smoke that had tickled his nostrils.

Just when she thought that they were good to go, Patches jerked them to a stop the moment they reached the corner. Zelda nearly fell, managing to regain her balance before things got nasty.

"Patches!" she hissed. "Keep -"

He had his ears drawn back – hackles raised, and teeth bared. He gave low, warning snarl – attention fully focused on something, never wavering. She followed his line of sight until it landed on a kid wearing an annoyingly yellow jacket. They were trying to lean into the sewer drain, one of their tiny hands braced on the top of it.

_Oh, no you don't._

The last thing they needed was for them to fall in. Who knows how badly they would get hurt or how long it would take to get them out?

"Hey, kid! What are you doing?!" sternly asked Zelda.

At the sound of her voice, they pulled their head back out. It was a boy who lived down the street from her (Georgie Denbrough, she believed). From the times she'd seen him running around his yard, he seemed like a sweet and loving kid – always doing what he was told with hardly any complaints. Zelda could see that he was full of apprehension, probably from what he thought she'd do to him.

When he opened his mouth to respond, the sickening sound of bone loudly _snapping_ hit her full force. The poor boy fell backwards, screams of bloody murder echoing around them.

Zelda let go of Patches' leash and rushed forwards. She watched as Georgie attempted to crawl away, streaks of scarlet leaving his body in gushing trickles. She didn't realize that it was coming from where his arm used to be until she was crouched in front of him.

"Oh, god," she gasped in horror.

What could have done this? An alligator? A rabid animal?

She could feel his other arm weakly grab onto her, tears of fear falling down his incredibly pale face.

"Help me!" Georgie cried. "He's gonna get me!"

"Who?"

"The clown! The clown!"

The teen gripped onto his shoulders and began to pull him towards her. She needed to get him to the nearest house, to take him to the hospital before he lost too much blood.

"Hold on, kid. I'll get you -"

A sturdy force pulled them towards the sewer drain, drawing panicked barks from Patches as he watched helplessly from where he'd been left. Zelda planted her feet against its edges, hands tightly holding onto Georgie's wrist. Her biceps twitched with aching effort, begging her to let them relax. But she couldn't. She _wouldn't_. She'd burn in hell before she let that happen.

"Don't let go," Georgie begged, eyes shimmering with utter terror.

All she could do was grunt, "Hold. . . o –"

It was impossible for her not the notice _IT_ examining her with _IT_ s flaming, yellow-red eyes.

 _IT_ s mouth was full of bloodied, sharp teeth - drool messily dripping from _IT_ s long, protruding tongue. Unblinking, _IT_ looked at her with never-ending starvation and amusement. An apex predator sizing up its prey.

_What the fuck it that thing?!_

"It's time for Georgie to float," _IT_ sang in a sickly-sweet tone. "And soon enough, _you'll float, too!"_

 _IT_ gave a vicious snarl and another mighty tug, tearing Georgie from Zelda. As her butt roughly hit the pavement, she heard him cry out: "BILLY!"

Patches' yips filled the grim air, drawing people outdoors. Some kindly neighbors asked if she was alright, one going as far to call 911 when she proved to be unresponsive.

No matter what they did or said, Zelda couldn't stop staring at what little remained of Georgie until there was nothing but blood free pavement and the fading scent of popcorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Georgie. As you can imagine, Zelda feels incredibly guilty that she wasn't able to save him. That's kind of hard to do when the monster you face is an all-powerful being, though.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	8. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a strong chapter? Probably not. Am I happy with it? Yeah, kind of. If only that asshole living in my brain stopped telling me everything I write looks like shit. . . . I see putting my work out there as a way of giving it the middle finger. So, basically, fuck that guy. 
> 
> A bit random, but have any of you heard about the IT Frappuccino? It's a vanilla bean Frappuccino with strawberry purée. From what I've read, it sounds like it's more of a secret menu item. Either way, I'm going to try and go to Starbucks sometime this week. 
> 
> I've also come across an AU comic where Pennywise turns good. You can find it on Tumblr under turnedgoodaucomic. It's an amazing read! I highly recommend checking it out.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own IT. Stephen King does.

Officer Wilcox looked at the rattled girl before him, head down and knees brought up to her chest. She was biting the tip of one of her thumbs, eyes focused on something that he couldn't see.

"Can you tell us what happened?" asked Officer Lang, her voice calm and certain.

Normally, they wouldn't have checked in on someone who had been in shock for the past few hours. They'd been told that when she'd found her voice again, she kept mumbling a name: Georgie. They would have shrugged it off, wouldn't have gone in to see someone who wasn't in the best state of mind. But that was before they received a frantic call from the Denbroughs. They claimed that their youngest son, George - or Georgie, as he was more affectionately known - was missing.

The girl, Zelda Wayne, didn't look up as she evenly said, "I told you. Someone pulled him into the sewer drain."

Officer Wilcox felt. . . doubtful, to say the least. Who in their right mind would traverse the sewers of Derry? Not even the rats were willing to touch such a place with a ten foot pole.

"And by someone, you mean -"

"Exactly what it sounds like," she snapped, teeth sinking into her skin hard enough to almost draw blood.

"Yes, but what you claim sounds a bit far-fetched," began Officer Wilcox. "That a man in the sewers somehow managed to cut off George's arm, threatened you, and then pulled him in."

Zelda didn't say anything, only continued to glare at the table sitting before them. She hadn't even so much as grabbed the bottle of water that had been set out for her.

"Now, doesn't that sound a bit improbable to you, Miss Wayne?"

"I'm not lying," she said, tone on the verge of shaking. "I wouldn't."

"If what you are saying is true, did you manage to get a good look at the person who took George Denbrough?"

A look of fear, one that sucked the life out of her flesh, washed over her. Any movement she'd made seconds prior came to an abrupt stop. To Officer Wilcox, she looked like a marble statue - forever frozen in a state of terror.

"Miss Wayne?" asked Officer Lang.

For a moment, he thought that they wouldn't get anything else out of her, that she'd run dry and would no longer be of any help.

"You won't believe me."

"Trust us, Miss Wayne, we've heard of stranger things," Officer Wilcox promised.

She shook her head, muttering something beneath her breath.

"Speak louder, please."

After a sharp inhale of air, she said something that he would hear again twenty-seven years later: "He was a clown. A motherfucking clown."

* * *

The following afternoon, Zelda Wayne was cleared of any suspicion. It was agreed that she had nothing to do with the boy's disappearance, for the other witnesses all claimed that they had seen her struggling to hold onto something. That something being George Denbrough.

"She couldn't have hurt that poor boy," said an elderly woman as she wrapped her shawl tightly around herself. "I saw her walking a dog not long before. . . well, before _that_ happened."

There had been no weapn, no evidence that she had brought harm to him. Even if she did by some chance have something to do with his disaperence, they couldn't pin it on her.

And then there was that. . . that clown, or so she had said. Even if there was some truth in it, there was something about it that put the entire police department on edge. It was as if this wasn't the first, nor the last, time that terrible things would happen to the children of Derry. It was as if a voice warned them to drop any plans they might have had to further investigate this particular case. Like the Wayne girl had told Officers Wilcox and Lang: no one would believe them, anyway.

They told George's family that he must have fallen into the sewers while trying to grab hold of something. That Zelda had attempted to help him but lost her grip on him. That he'd been swept away by a rush of water, never to be seen again.

It was enough to please the higher ups, to ease their conscience when it came to brushing the truth under the rug.

The last thing everyone needed was to fear something that couldn't possibly exist. . . .

* * *

There were two people who couldn't let Georgie's disappearance go. One refused to accept that he would most-likely never see his little brother again. The other couldn't shake away the need to know what the hell was lurking below the small-minded town.

Unbeknownst to either of them, the answers they were looking for had a hefty cost. It was a terrible truth they wouldn't discover until it was too late to turn back.

* * *

Something was wrong. Kimmy could tell by how Zelda glanced around her as if afraid someone was lurking in the shadows. She could tell by how her eyes would glaze over as Kimmy told her about the comics she'd been reading. She could tell by the one worded answers she'd give, pushing things along at a much faster pace than normal.

At first, she'd thought this was her way of dealing with what happened to George Denbrough. Or that she was still shaken from the time the police had interviewed her. She understood how that must have fucked with her. But as the days bled into weeks and weeks into months, Kimmy was beginning to worry. A nasty part of her told her that she shouldn't bother spending time with her if all she'd get was mindless nods. It made her feel both guilty and unappreciated all at once.

They were at Debby's Diner one afternoon when she finally found the courage to ask, "Zelda, are you alright?"

With bloodshot eyes that hinted at how troubled she must have felt, Zelda looked at Kimmy. Her fingers kept tearing slits into the napkin she held, bits of it dropping on the menu sitting before her. They had yet to order anything, save for the two waters they'd asked for moments ago. Knowing the state of her mind, Kimmy had a feeling that Zelda would most-likely order nothing at all.

"Why do you wanna know?" she asked, deep voice scratchier than usual.

"Because I. . . . " Kimmy took a deep breath, hands squeezing themselves together. "I'm worried about you."

Zelda continued to peer at Kimmy, the sadness in her blue gaze gradually growing. "Don't."

Kimmy's eyes widened at this, jaw threatening to drop to the ground. Of all the things she expected to hear, this wasn't one of them.

"What?"

"You don't need to worry about me, Kimmy. I'm fine. Really, I am."

Every single thing that had happened since September rushed to the front of her mind. How the cigarettes Zelda carried in her denim jacket were no longer there. How she'd spent less and less time with her outside of school. How she was more reserved than normal. It had gotten to the point where Kimmy had begun to suspect that she was falling into a deep depression. It made her want to scream at Zelda, to shake some sense into her, to cuss her out for lying to her.

She was more than ready to let Zelda have it. Kimmy didn't even know that her anger wasn't as strong as she thought it was until she softly stated, "No, you're not."

With a roll of her eyes, Zelda responded dryly, "Well, sorry that you think that way."

"Fuck you, Zelda," she hissed. "Seriously, fuck you."

" _Shh!_ " Zelda said, reaching across the table to place some of her fingers over Kimmy's mouth. "Keep your voice down."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Is everything alright over here?" asked the annoyed voice of their waitress as she glared down at the teens.

"Yeah, we're fine. Thanks," Zelda said, earning a slight sigh of aggravation from their waitress. "Give us a second."

The waitress looked like she wanted to say something rude in return. Instead, she nodded her head before stomping towards the kitchen. It was then that Kimmy felt someone staring heated daggers into the back of her neck. She peeked as discreetly as possible at the people around her. Though there weren't many other diners, the few that were there gave her looks of 'what the hell is her problem?' or 'how _dare_ she say such a thing in a family establishment.'

Before she could figure out what to do with this information, Zelda pulled her out of their booth. "Come on," she mumbled. "Before you make an even bigger scene."

Anger boiled beneath her skin, threatening to burst at any moment. All she could see was a narrow tunnel surrounded by a blinding red. Zelda stood at the end of it, never letting go of Kimmy's wrist until they found themselves in an alleyway.

She tore her arm back, lips drawn into a snarl as she rubbed the place Zelda's fingertips had pressed into. For what felt like an eternity, the two of them wordlessly dared the other to go first. But the longer they stood, the more Kimmy's anger ebbed away. She was eventually left somewhere between frustrated and hurt, unsure of what to do next.

"Well, go on," Zelda huffed, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of her flushed face. "Talk."

And so Kimmy, who couldn't find the energy to yell anymore, confessed, "I'm scared that you're drifting away. You hardly talk anymore, and I heard from one of your teammates that you've been skipping practice."

The confession hung between them. It eventually drew some form of recognition from the depths of Zelda's exhausted eyes.

Then, as if someone had unlocked a stubborn door, Zelda tenderly reached out a hand. Kimmy stared at it, unsure, before tentatively accepting it.

* * *

A red cover bridge loomed before the teens. It didn't look new by any means, nor did it look like it was falling apart. Kimmy remembered crossing it back in September, when her mom drove them to their new home. Unless it was to finally leave Derry, she hadn't seen any reason to come back.

"Why are we here?" she asked, never taking her eyes off of it.

Stopping by a wooden fence, Kimmy noticed initials and hearts carved into them. Some were fairly recent while others looked to be at least a decade old. Zelda stepped forward, thumping her way across the bridge.

"Come on," she called over her shoulder, voice echoing behind her.

Kimmy watched as she knelt down at the other end. She pulled out what looked like a Swiss Army knife and dug its sharp edge into the wood.

"What are you doing?!" she asked, darting forward as if that would be enough to get her to stop.

Standing behind Zelda, nervous of being found, she caught a glimpse of other carvings. Few in comparison to other sections, but enough to be considered a cluster.

"What's it look like, silly?" Zelda responded, laughter flowing between each word she spoke.

Sure enough, a small 'Z' stared back at her, deep and fresh and smelling of dusty wood. Kimmy watched as Zelda began to carve an even smaller '+.' When she'd finished, she stood. Carefully, on baited breath, Zelda held the knife out. There was a look of hope in her blue gaze, one that Kimmy felt rush to the tips of her toes. It was the first time she had ever seen her crush like this. But it wasn't. Not really. She just hadn't seen it since:

_The sleepover._

Images of the almost moment, one charged with tension and want, flashed before her. The feel of Zelda's fingers, the way her head felt like it was going to explode. It was something that could have been, but had passed them by. All because Kimmy had freaked out before she could truly face it.

Without looking away from her, Kimmy reached out to take the knife. She bent down, facing the letters that confirmed every pang of longing, of every detailed sketch of her she'd put to paper.

Soon, an equally small 'K' found its place beside the others, a feeling of warmth spreading through her. Cool hands gently squeezed Kimmy's shoulders before they turned her around. Standing, she found a smiling Zelda - though it wasn't quite the same as the ones she used to wear. She took the knife from Kimmy, sliding it pack into her jacket once it had been retracted.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised, intertwining her fingers with Kimmy's. "Not really."

Slowly, waiting for Kimmy to let her, Zelda brought her lips closer to Kimmy's. Her ears pounded within her head, encouraging her to act on what she'd never thought would come to pass. With a dreamy nod of her head, and a whispered "Yes," they shared a gentle, lingering kiss. Kimmy sank into it, bringing her arms up to wrap themselves around Zelda's shoulders. She could feel her back press against the bridge and Zelda's caress upon her waist. Her eyelids fluttered, like a butterfly experiencing its first flight.

Before she knew it, Zelda pulled away, and they both took in the crisp, autumn air. She could feel her lips beginning to swell at the same time she noticed how vibrant and plump Zelda's had become.

"So, you're -"

"Gay. You?"

"Bisexual."

A soft laugh, the first she'd heard from her crush in weeks, answered her. "I _knew_ you had the hots for me."

A furious blush encased Kimmy, sending her brain into a tizzy. "Well, I, uh. You. . . you -" Kimmy groaned, leaning her head onto Zelda's shoulder.

Strands of her hair began to move, hovering above her, twirling in circles, as Zelda said, "It's hard living in Derry. No one will let you be yourself if you're something they can't stand."

As if remembering where they were, the two simultaneously broke apart. Zelda rubbed the back of her neck, rolling it every now and again, while Kimmy pulled at her sweater's sleeve.

"We should. . . we should get going," Kimmy finally said, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Yeah. We should."

They walked back to the heart of Derry in silence. The backs of their hands brushed together, the only thing they really needed to say. It was when they parted ways that they shared a knowing grin. Nothing, they agreed in that fleeting moment, would be the same.

* * *

Later that night, Kimmy woke, gasping for air. A sinking feeling, one that was like a pestering creature, weighed down her stomach. For a second, she thought she was going to puke, bringing up a clammy palm to press against her trembling lips. Worriedly, she scanned her bedroom. A sliver of moonlight shone through the closed curtains, illuminating Ben's body. The sound of his deep, slow breaths began to sooth her.

She couldn't remember if she had dreamed or not. For all she knew, it had been of complete darkness - one that was filled with a never ending silence. But something. . . something had scared her, jolting her back to reality. It was as if she had fallen out of bed, her mind waking her in time to brace for an uncomfortable landing. What that was, she wasn't sure. As she laid back upon her pillow, eyes shut tight, the reason why rapidly came to her: Zelda was in trouble. Why, she wasn't certain.

Though pressing, she knew there wasn't much that she could do. Before she drifted back to sleep, she made a mental note to call her first thing in the morning. She never did, for at that point it had become more of an unpleasant dream that she couldn't quite recall.

It was only when she passed Keen's Pharmacy that she remembered. With knees that felt as if they were made of melting Jell-O, Kimmy read the poster crookedly taped to the window:

**MISSING:**

**ZELDA WAYNE**

15 Years Old

 **Last Seen:** November 22

 **Description:** Date of Birth: September 3, 1974 Female 15yrs. 60 inches

Weight 105 Blonde Hair Blue Eyes Wearing Denim Jacket, AC/DC T-shirt, Blue Jeans, Black Boots

Persons Having Information

Are Requested to Call

(207) 174-6913

A sense of dread flowed through her, leaving guilt and a need to run as far away from Derry as she could in its wake. The girl who made Kimmy's world feel a little more stable was somewhere she could not follow. Or so she had thought. . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I may be the only one who died during the kissing bridge scene, but I'm honestly fine with that. If you loved it, too, then that's great! I'm super excited to get back into the film again, seeing as most of the Losers will make an appearance in the next chapter.
> 
> Speaking of the Losers, I heard that we were robbed of more Mike scenes in Chapter Two. They probably cut them out to not go over three hours, but come on! We couldn't have gotten at least one of them? I'm hoping that we'll see them in the extended version, whenever that comes out. Hopefully we won't have to wait more than a couple years.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	9. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow. This took far longer to write than I thought. I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter now, which I didn't expect to happen. It was going to be longer, but I decided that it would flow better if I gave it its own chapter. And then there was last night's editing fiasco. The editing site I use decided to delete a paragraph that I almost didn't catch and had to re-edit. I was tempted to throw my laptop in the trash and give up on writing all together. A bit dramatic, but your brain tends to be rather dramatic when tired. But, hey, I was on a roll, at least. I feel like I'm starting to get excited about what's to come, thus making everything a bit less stressful.
> 
> And then there was that tremendous amount of self-doubt that hit me the other day. Fuck, that sucked. I kept staring at this chapter, thinking how much it sucked and how out of character it was. (I now don't think it is, but I could be wrong.) Thankfully it went away last night. God, that was far from a fun time.
> 
> On a slightly more positive note, Kimmy is finally going to interact with more of the Losers! She won't meet Beverly or Mike for another few chapters, but it should happen soon. I can't wait for Richie and Kimmy to become friends because I love their friendship. That's one of the things I'm most excited to write more about, to be honest.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Bullying, fat-shaming, implied slurs, and use of the 'd' slur.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own IT. Stephen King does.

**November 23rd, 1988**

Ben could see the shape of his sister's body buried beneath her duvet. Since the previous afternoon, she had hidden away in their room. She never left, opting to remain unmoving from where she'd plopped down upon. He'd only seen her like this one other time. When their father had died, she hardly talked to anyone for weeks, including him. Losing his dad had been hard, but not as much as trying to reach out to Kimmy so he didn't have to deal with his pain on his own.

 _Please don't leave me,_ he wanted to beg on the day of their father's funeral. _Please don't make me go through this alone._

"Hey, Kimmy?" Ben asked, kneeling down beside his sister's bed. He could see the shape of her body beneath her covers, unmoving since the previous afternoon. "Kims?"

For a lingering moment, one that felt as if it had surpassed an eternity, Ben thought he'd lost her. That she wouldn't come up for air until whatever was churning inside her had run its course. He would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about her. It was the thought of her going back to that dark place that made him desperate to reach out to her. To be there for her in anyone that he could.

He almost sighed in relief when she responded with a quiet, "Mmm?"

"Do you. . . do you want me to stay?"

They returned to silence. It got to the point where the air conditioner's hums was the only thing he heard for a considerable amount of time. Still, he waited for her to say something, to make some kind of move.

His patience was rewarded with her rolling over to face him, her hazel eyes sadly peeking out at him. That was enough for him to sit at the foot of her bed, body pressing against her bent knees.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice on the verge of tears.

"It's okay," he assured her, gently squeezing her knee. "It's okay."

The siblings say in silence for the rest of the day. When Ben heard her shallow breaths, he moved to his own bed. He only stopped watching her when he, too, fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Thanksgiving Day, 1988**

The sound of timid knocking echoed through the hallway as Arlene attempted to reach out to Kimmy. At first she hadn't been too worried, thinking that her daughter would come down on today of all days. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade was an event that she refused to miss in the past. She'd even make a show of setting an alarm to make sure she didn't sleep through it. But when it was halfway over, she knew that something was wrong.

" _She's not a child anymore, Arlene,_ " her sister had condescendingly pointed out. " _I'm quite pleased that she's mature in at least one aspect of her life._ "

 _But she never misses it_ , she wanted to tell Jean. _It's her favorite tradition._

"Kimmy? Sweetheart? Please, come out," softly called her mom.

Someone making their way to the door ignited the hope that she'd finally managed to get through to her. They had hardly talked since moving to Derry. It only seemed to put a further strain on their already fairly distant relationship.

To her disappointment, Ben was the one who responded to her request.

"She's not feeling well," he said, pulling his PJ shirt down from where it had begun to ride up.

"Really? What's wrong?"

When she went to make her way in, Ben made sure that only a sliver of the door was open. He gave her an apologetic look, one that she knew all too well.

_She doesn't want to see me. . . ._

"Oh, alright." Trying not to be too hurt by this realization, Arlene gave her son the best smile she could muster. "Try to get her to come down for dinner?"

Yet both of them knew that wouldn't happen unless Jean dragged Kimmy out by her ears. And even that was uncertain.

"I'll try."

Not knowing what else to say, Arleen nodded her head. It was when she dejectedly descended the stairs that a feeling of dread filled her. For the first time since moving, she found herself wondering if deciding to live in Derry was the right thing to do.

_Where did I go wrong?_

* * *

**December 1988**

Kimmy watched the blurred shadows of snowflakes fall from a gray sky from the comfort of her bed. The light from the streetlamps shone a soft yellow across the floor, capturing what was left of her focus.

The thought of the winter months freezing Zelda', wherever she was, made her stomach churn. If she was stuck somewhere, would someone come across her and bring her home to her family? If some sick fuck kept her locked away, would she be able to get away? Nothing made sense. . . . At least, nothing that brought her to the conclusion that girl she had feelings for was gone forever. . . .

Tears prickled her eyes as a thick wad planted itself in her throat.

Zelda. . . couldn't be dead. . . . She was too wonderful, too laid-back, too rock-and-roll to be gone so soon.

Images of the blonde teen popped into her mind. Zelda standing before her in her denim jacket. Zelda humming along to Joan Jett's "I Hate Myself for Loving You" whenever it played on the radio. Zelda playing tag with her siblings, laughing and rolling around on their front yard. Zelda asking Kimmy if her favorite movie theatre snack was safe for her braces. Zelda smoking in the darkest corners of their school. . .

The pain of losing her father earlier that same year had been a thousand times more painful. It was something that had taken a piece of her with him. She'd refused to leave her room for days, hardly eating a thing. All she could do was draw and draw and draw, pages and pages and pages of things that didn't have rhyme or reason. Later on, she'd say that it was the only way she could get every negative emotion out of her. This habit of becoming dangerously reclusive would stick with her well into adulthood. But with Zelda. . . a numbness settled upon her, weighing her down where she laid.

She was so caught up in her emotions that she didn't realize she'd begun to silently cry.

* * *

**January 1989**

It didn't take long for Henry and his goons to focus their attention on her. When Zelda was around, there had only been a few instances where they cared to bother them. But that was mostly due to how clever the now missing girl had been when it came to avoiding them. It was as if she had cracked a cryptic code, one that allowed her and anyone close to her to slip under the radar. It was talent that Kimmy hadn't payed much mind to before. But now. . . now she was made painfully aware of what kind of person the infamous bullies were.

The first time they bothered her was in the halls, during passing period. She'd been so focused on making her way to her homeroom that she had failed to notice their snickering.

" _Dyke,_ " one of them had coughed into their fist, chortles of approval falling it.

Kimmy had almost stopped, stunned. She did her best to ignore whatever else they threw her way as she picked up her pace. If it wasn't for the slur written on her locker later that week, she would have completely forgotten about it. Kimmy stared at it in disbelief for what felt like hours, ears ringing, legs cemented to the tile floor.

It only got worse.

Each passing day, she'd find a new crude addition. Sometimes it was a word, sometimes it was a phrase, and sometimes it was a hardly passable drawing. None the less, the intent was still there: not a single person at Derry High School liked her. And she had a feeling that Henry was the one who initiated this tactic of bullying.

But it was the way he looked at her like he wanted to do unimaginable things to her that sent shivers down her spine. Most of the time she couldn't tell if he wanted to punch her in the face or make-out with her. She hopped that she'd never have to find out. And then there was Patrick. He was someone she knew would go wild in the bullying department if he ever managed to get her alone. There was something about him that felt more disturbing than Henry in some ways. It was like he did not care about the consequences he could face if caught. It was almost like he saw the laws of the universe as something he didn't need to follow, that he was the one in control.

Even if hardly anyone believed she was gay, it still didn't help her make friends. Especially when the rumors about her and Zelda began going around.

That her and Zelda made out in the woods. That they had sex under the bleachers after school. That Kimmy liked to send letters of admiration to the girls in her year. That she had aids. . . . None of them were true. Most knew this, and yet they seemed to prefer to keep their distance just in case.

At first, she was afraid that someone had seen them at the Kissing Bridge or that they noticed their carving. But the more the rumors spread, the more she felt safe in knowing that she was safe in that regard. It still made the rest of her freshman year lonely as hell. She'd watch from the sidelines as girls were asked to the winter dance and everyone but her had a place to sit at lunch. All the while, they'd send suspicious glances her way, whispering to each other as if she weren't even there.

The only ones who got her through it all were Ben and Stan. Her schedule remained the same as it had been before Zelda went missing. It was comforting, having a sense of familiarity to help ease the sting of what the Bowers gang had done. Drawing, reading with Ben, listening to music with Stan as they watched birds the moment it was spring.

It as during the lonely moments that separated her from them that she withdrew into thoughts. They were almost-always filled with lyrics from her favorite songs. She'd hum them beneath her breath, hoping that this would make the end of the school day come faster.

* * *

**June 1989**

The months passed, bleeding into the next. Holidays came and went, as did some of the seasons. And as the year progressed, the more and more children went missing. In fact, it was a common sight to see a new missing person's poster once a week. It was only towards the end of the spring that a curfew had been put in place. The Derry Police had hopped that this would lessen the amount of missing cases presented to them. Even then, it still didn't work.

Kimmy was all too aware of the absence of her peers, especially those who were much younger than her. Ever since Zelda disappeared, she noticed how things seemed. . . off, to say the least. Like how the adults would conveniently look away whenever kids were in need of her help. How the Bowers and his friends seemed to get away with more shit than they should have. How everyone wasn't as close knit as they claimed. . . . There had to be long forgotten skeletons in their closets, the kind Kimmy knew were far too ugly to see the light of day.

It wasn't until the end of the school year that the source behind the town's suffering showed itself to Kimmy. And not just to her. It also came for those who, by the end of the summer, proved to be the best friends she'd ever had.

* * *

Mrs. Kennedy sat at her giant desk, watching her students with a distrusting gaze. Her half-moon glasses kept inching down her nose, which she'd put a stop to before they could fall off of her face. Her long, pearl pink nails tapped against the wooden surface, never ceasing. They increased in volume the closer the hands on the classroom's clock inched closer to 3:00pm.

They were seconds away from being dismissed, if the way that the teacher puckered her lips was anything to go by. Sure enough, the final bell rang around them, causing her classmates to jolt up from their seats.

"Have a good summer," was Mrs. Kennedy monotone reply. "And make sure to remember the curfew."

Hardly anyone heard her, seeing as they had shoved their way into the now crowded hallway. Kimmy, was among the last to leave, hugging her things close to her chest as she made a beeline for her locker. The last thing she wanted was for one of the school assholes to make yet another snide comment about her.

But the images of what looked like hairy vaginas and grody dicks didn't seem to get the memo. They glared at her, slurs about her sexuality and nicknames like 'crocked tooth bitch.' Oh so lovely reminders to further prove how much Derry sucked.

She took a deep breath that boarder lined exasperation. After she entered her combination, she shoved her remaining things into her backpack. If she was fast enough, she wouldn't run into anyone on her way to meet Ben at the middle school. Just when she thought that she was in the clear, her locker door slammed shut, making her jump back in surprise.

The sound of gum being nosily chewed clued Kimmy in to who'd decided to invade her personal space. It was Melissa Johnson, Jim's on-again-off-again girlfriend. Watching the two of them interreact with each other the past few months was a wild roller coaster ride. One moment they'd be fine and dandy and the next they were in a heated argument.

Kimmy had to admit that she was beautiful, with her soft auburn curls and pale green eyes. She looked like a pageant queen, strutting down the streets with an elegant grace. If you looked close enough, you could still see hints of the toddler that she use to be. (Rosebud lips, apple cheeks, and an upturned nose.) Even her voice had an airy sound that threw Kimmy off whenever she spewed out anything nasty - which was always.

"Where do you think you're heading to in such a rush?" she asked in a sugar sweet tone, batting her thick eyelashes as if to distract Kimmy from what she wanted.

"Nowhere," Kimmy said, speed walking towards the exit.

Of course she didn't get off easy, seeing as Melissa practically pranced after her.

"You shouldn't lie, you know. It's rather rude and makes you look like a bitch," Melissa said, finally catching up to Kimmy. "Jimmy told me that your aunt doesn't like it when you do. Something about how you're 'allowing Satan to have control of your life.'"

It was a miracle that there wasn't a painful collision in the middle of the halls when Kimmy came to an abrupt stop. She spun around, making sure that they locked eyes. Melissa had a rather smug look about her, one that bragged about how easy it was for her to get under people's skin.

"What do you want, Melissa?" she nearly growled, so not in the mood to talk to someone who lived to bring those around her down.

"Why, to let you know that I'll be spending more time with your family, of course. Your aunt has even invited me to dinner tomorrow night."

_You have got to be kidding me._

Kimmy narrowed her eyes, expecting something else to be tacked on to the end of the statement. "Is that all?"

Having not gotten the reaction she had wanted, Melissa released a huff of indignation. "What? Can't a girl tell another girl about meeting their boyfriend's mother?"

"Really? That's all you wanted to talk to me about?"

A snort of amusement answered that question. "You think that's why I wanted to talk to you?!"

_No, I just think you're a petty jerk who thinks I'm too stupid to see right through you._

"Oh, no, no, brace-face. I wanted to tell you that if you step one toe out of line that'll you'll find that I can ruin you."

_Like I don't already know that._

"Now that summer's here, you're going to keep an eye on Jim. Make sure that he doesn't do anything he shouldn't. Like, say, talk to girls on the phone?"

"And why should I care about what my cousin does?"

"Because if you don't, I'll tell your aunt that the rumors about you and Zelda are true."

That did it.

Since Zelda went missing, there was no one she could talk to about it without the fear of getting bit in the ass. She hated that she didn't have anyone to talk to about her sexuality, that she had to be careful about who she told. Knowing her luck, she'd end up telling someone she thought would be cool about it would end up being a huge dick about it. As much as she didn't like keeping this to herself, she knew what could happen if she didn't. Especially in a small town that had something sinister ran deep within its veins. And if Aunt Jean ever figured out that there was some truth to this. . . . She didn't know what would happen. Whatever her reaction may be, Kimmy knew that it would be horrible.

"Sure." Melissa began to smile in victory until Kimmy dropped: "Once he gets back from summer camp."

"And when would that be?"

"I don't know. August?"

" _August?!_ "

Kimmy took a step back, eyeing a now fuming Melissa. It was as if she was a deadly volcano about to erupt, and she did not want to be anywhere near her when she did. "He. . . he didn't tell you?"

In a furious rage, Melissa stormed out of the high school - no doubt on the prowl for Jim. Something told her that things were, yet again, not going well between them. Another break up was on the horizon - be it today or a month from now. She wouldn't have asked Kimmy to spy on Mr. Leave Me the Fuck Alone if she wasn't desperate to keep him on a short leash. The good news was that she wouldn't be able to contact Jim without him figuring out that something was up. Not to mention how hard it would already be to reach him, seeing as he'd only get mail once a week and zero phone calls.

Shaking her head, Kimmy inwardly crossed her fingers that nothing else would go wrong on her way to Ben.

* * *

Among the many things Stan expected his last day of school to go, running into Bowers and his gang wasn't one of them. Granted, he'd faced them countless times before, but they'd backed off around September. At least, whenever he was around Bill. A sneaking suspicion told him it had to do with Georgie's disappearance. He wouldn't be shocked if he found out that someone had told them to demand they leave Bill alone. So, having gotten use to the lack of bullying, he was surprised when Henry shoved Richie into him.

The friends fell to the ground with a heavy thump, bodies splayed out as they tried to regain their bearings. Patrick hovered over Stan, blocking the sun with his tall, lanky body. He watched as Patrick grabbed his kippah. That's when the panic began to creep in. If he showed up to the synagogue without it, his dad would kill him. Scratch that, _majorly_ kill him.

A smug smirk spread across the bully's face when he noticed how fearful Stan had become.

"Nice frisbee," said Patrick.

"Give it back!" he shouted, voice cracking - which sent Patrick and Belch into fits of laughter.

Stan helplessly watched, arm outstretched, as his kippah was tossed towards the road. . . . Only to be caught by someone before it almost sailed into a passing bus' open window. When he managed to register who it was, Stan felt his heart begin to flutter. It was Kimmy, his friend and - as he had come to realize during the many weekends they'd spent together - crush.

The dark haired girl stood near the side of the road with her fingers firmly wrapped around his kippah. Her wide gaze kept switching between her hand and the bus that the kippah had almost hit, her mouth shaped like an 'O.'

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, _dyke_?!" Henry asked in a scarily even tone, pulling Kimmy out of her shock.

She looked at him with an icy, narrowed gaze, a corner of her lips beginning to form into an unforgiving snarl. "I could ask you the same thing, dickhead."

Anger flamed across Henry's facial features. All he could seem to see was the person who had majorly pissed him off. He would have plowed into her if Blech's hand hadn't firmly wrapped itself around his bicep. Henry was about to hiss a threat at his friend when Belch motioned his head towards the front entrance. There, standing beside the cop cars and the mom of a missing kid named Betty Ripsom, was Sheriff Bowers. Stan noticed how the Sheriff sent his son a warning look, one that drained whatever he wanted to do next out of him. It was like watching a balloon pitifully deflate.

Just when Stan thought they would leave them be, Henry shifted his sight onto Bill who was shaking with rage. "You got a free ride because of your little brother. Well, ride's over, Denbrough. The summer's going to be a hurt train for you and your loser friends."

Henry licked the palm of his hand, letting his tongue slowly gliding over it. A wet sound filled the air around them as he wiped it across Bill's scrunched face. This immature action turned his gang of assholes into giggling children. Even Victor, who waited by Belch's car, joined in on the laughter. With a final look of warning aimed at Kimmy, Henry led the way to Belch's car. The moment they all settled in, they tore down the road, puffs of exhaust fumes trailing behind them.

"You okay, Stan?"

He looked up, finding himself staring up at a very much concerned Kimmy. She frowned, her free hand outstretched for him to take.

With a blush that had been set ablaze by how close they were, Stan let her help him back to his feet. After gingerly taking back his kippah, he placed it back on top of his head of curls while he murmured, "Yeah. I'm okay."

"Good." A smile made an appearance, warm and with a hint of excitement. A copious amount of excitement that she'd been holding in came out as she bounced on the tips of her toes. "Did you see how I caught your kippah?! Oh, my god, that's probably the coolest thing I've ever done! I've never managed to catch anything in my life!" As if thinking that she'd said something horrible, Kimmy bit her bottom lip. "Sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up."

Stan thought it was quite adorable how excited she was about something that seemed minor to most. One of the things he liked about her was how she wasn't afraid to let everyone see how happy she was. It was contagious, so much so that he'd end up smiling like a fool who had feelings for one of his friends. . . which he was. Not that anyone would have seen this, considering how small his smiles usually were. It was something the school photographer liked to point out whenever they told him to 'say cheese.' He didn't really care. . . most of the time.

"It's alright. I don't mind," he promised her, eyes locking with hers.

At this, Kimmy smiled in relief, gently pulling her shirt's sleeve. Stan was about to ask her what she was doing tomorrow afternoon when Richie huffed, "No, no. It's okay. I can get up on my own."

_Shit._

He forgot to help Richie up. The group watched as the glasses-wearing boy dramatically got back on his feet. He pinched the top corner of his glasses, shifting them so that they were no longer crocked. His brown eyes looked even bigger than they usually were, adding to the mischief his small smile held.

"Not like I was knocked on my ass, too. I mean, why help me when you can help the boy who obliviously has a -"

"Beep, beep, Richie," Stan blurted out, glaring daggers at his friend.

Kimmy looked at them with confusion, one of her brows raised as she alternated looking at Stan and Richie.

"That was p. . . pretty cool," stated Bill, Eddie nodding his head in agreement. "I'm Bill, and they're Richie and Eddie," he said, indicating to who he was introducing her to. Eddie, who stood furthest from the group, gave her a small wave of acknowledgment. Richie, being Richie, raised his chin while uttering a casual "'sup?"

"I'm Kimmy," she responded after returning Richie's nod with one of her own.

"Thanks for helping us with B. . . Bowers."

Kimmy shrugged at this, hands gripping the straps of her backpack. "All I did was almost get my jaw punched, but thanks." With another smile sent Stan's way, she asked, "Still on for this weekend?"

"Definitely."

"Great." As she walked away from the boys who couldn't stop staring at her, she called over her shoulder, "See you later, Stan."

For a moment, none of them uttered a single word. That is, until Richie piped up, "You're not her type, you know."

Stan tore his gaze away from a retreating Kimmy, who had just rounded the edge of the brick building. "What?"

"You don't have boobs."

"Beep, beep, Richie," Bill and Eddie said in unison as Stan's dreamy grin fell.

Part of him suspected that there may be some truth to the rumors. That her and Zelda might have secretly dated during the fall semester. To be honest, he wouldn't have given it much thought. But the way the two of them had looked at each other with complete adoration made him think otherwise.

He never found the courage to ask her if she and Zelda were girlfriends for fear of angering her. From the sounds of it, she was already getting enough judgment from her classmates. The last thing Stan wanted was for her to think that he thought any less of her, that she shouldn't like girls. If she was gay like the rumors claimed she was, he'd be okay with it. As long as she was happy with whoever she dated, Stan was happy, even though she'd would never see him as more than a friend. He valued their friendship too much to put his nose where it didn't belong. Stan couldn't bare the idea of going things going back to what they were before they met. To see her around town and not be able to talk to her or know what's on her mind. . . . Few people, save for his small group of friends, liked Stan for Stan. Losing someone he cared about, someone who got him while most others didn't, made his stomach drop.

"We don't know that for s. . . sure," Bill reminded them. "Those are just rumors."

Richie looked at his shoes with a tinge of guilt, not meeting Bill's eyes as he admitted, "Yeah, you're right."

After wordlessly checking to make sure they were on the same page, Bill said while walking to the bike rack, "Come on. We have to p. . . prepare for the B. . . Barrens."

And with that, Stan and the others followed their leader, parting ways once they reached the main road.

* * *

Shuffling out the backdoor, Ben tentatively made his way towards the bike rack. His eyes shifted across the school yard as he attempted to hold on to his final giant of a project. A sinking feeling of running into Henry and his friends had begun to settle in the moment school let out. The last time that had happened they rubbed his face in mud, laughing as they oinked at him. Needless to say, they got away before Kimmy met up with him, who became worried when he told her about his "tumble." She didn't leave his side for the rest of that day, helping him clean and patch up his scratches. She even listened to him talk about his latest research about Derry as they put together one of their Lego sets.

He knew Kimmy would have stuck up for him, that she wouldn't be afraid to track his bullies down. But he was ashamed of what had happened, as well as terrified about what they would do to her if she confronted them. Ben didn't want her to get hurt for his sake. He couldn't live with himself if he knew he was the reason she had a black eye or split lip.

As he retrieved his bike, unsure if the unease he felt was right, someone behind him snapped, "You going to let me go by? Or is there a password or something?"

Ben spun around, having not heard them stomp their way down the stairs seeing as he was listening to one of his tapes. He was ready for another snide comment about his weight or a rough shove into the bushes. . . . But then he realized who it was that had spoken.

Standing before him was Beverly Marsh, the girl he couldn't get out of his mind since he first saw her in September. He watched as the tension her muscles held relaxed, softening upon seeing him.

He struggled for words as a million responses - ranging from witty to polite - rushed around his mind. "Oh. Um, sorry."

"Sorry isn't -"

It was then that he finally managed to lose his poor grip on his project. The loose monuments scattered around him, the tinnier bits disappearing in the grass. They were soon followed by the heavy clunk of his bike, further adding to the mess. Kimmy had told him that he should glue it or that he should at least put some of the pieces into zip lock bags. But he had a vison, one that he wouldn't be able to play around with if they were firmly stuck in place. Getting to school that morning had been challenging. But with Kimmy's help, he'd managed to make it to class without any major spills. Now that he was here, standing before the girl he adored, he was beginning to regret not gluing some of them down. This whole ordeal could have been avoided. . . possibly.

"- a password."

He attempted to quickly gather his fallen things, holding back tears of embarrassment. All the while, Beverly peered into his back while an awkward silence hung above them.

When he managed to regain some his composure, she told him, "Henry and his goons are over by the west entrance. So, you should be fine."

"Oh, I wasn't -"

"Everyone knows he's looking for you."

A sigh escaped Ben. Of course he was, and it sucked that even his crush knew that he was a favorite target of the bullies. It made him feel like he looked pathetic, that there was no way that she would want to be associated with him. It would only gain Henry's twisted attention. No one should have to find out how unpleasant of an experience it was. . . . Especially her.

"What you listening to?" she asked.

Before he could respond, Beverly reached out and gently took his headphones.

_No!_

He couldn't bring himself to look at her, cheeks growing warm the longer she had them. He could hear "You Got It (The Right Stuff)" softly playing, something that he normally found comforting. Now it was something he wished would disappear forever. . . . Okay, maybe not forever, but at least until he was far away from Derry Middle School.

"New Kids on the Block," she chuckled, her smile wide as her cheeks stretched to accommodate it.

Normally Ben would have melted and returned it with a smile of his own. Instead, he defensively stumbled out, "I don't even like them. I was just -"

A look of realization crossed Beverly, gaze lighting up with amusement. "Wait. You're the new kid, right? Now I get it."

For the first time since arriving in Derry, something lingered inside of Ben. The wonderous feeling of being seen by someone began to make a noticeable appearance. That, for once, a peer of his wasn't pointing out one of his insecurities. He felt as if he wasn't so alone anymore. It was something he hadn't known until he managed to talk to Beverly outside of class.

Even though there was a part of him that knew it was a lie, Ben quietly told her, "There's nothing to get."

"I'm just messing with you," she said, playfully placing his headphones on top of his head. "I'm Beverly Marsh."

"Yeah, I know that, 'cause we're in the same class. Social Studies, and you were. . . ."

_Wonderful._

"I'm Ben. But pretty much everyone calls me -"

"The New Kid," Beverly finished. "Well, Ben, there are worse things to be called."

It was then that he remembered the rumors. He'd heard whispers from people who claimed that she'd sleep with anyone who looked her way. They called her names that made him feel sick, that made him want to yell at them for saying things behind her back. How could someone have it in them to casually use such horrible words? To think that they wouldn't cut as deep as they actually did?

As he dwelled on these dark thoughts, Beverly reached towards his back and pulled out. . . his yearbook.

_Oh, no._

"Let me sign this."

Before he could think of a way to get it back, she opened it, face dropping at the lack of names on the autograph pages.

As if she didn't already have enough to think that he was a loser. . . .

That's when she uncapped a pen and put it against the vastly empty space. Blue ink swirled itself to life, guided by the freckled hand of the girl it was attached to. A warm feeling spread through him, from the top of his ears to the tip of his toes. It was. . . it was something he never expected to happen - with her or with any of his other classmates. With a final flourish, Beverly held the yearbook out for him to take.

"Stay cool, Ben from sosh class," she told him before making her way past him.

Ben stared at her signature, giddy and light and ecstatic beyond belief. "You, too, Beverly."

"Hang tough, new kid on the block."

For the first time since the nickname stuck, he didn't mind being called this. Not when it was attached to a good-natured departure. He chuckled. As he swirled his thumb across the glossy cover, a clever response popped into his head. "'Please Don't Go, Girl!'" he called out. "That's the name of another New Kids on the Block song. . . ."

She didn't hear him.

Of course she hadn't, seeing as she was far enough away where anything could be directed at anyone. God, he felt so stupid.

"Who are you talking to?"

Ben jolted at the sound of Kimmy's voice. She stood before him, leaning into her bike.

"Oh, uh, someone from my Social Studies class."

His sister managed to catch a glimpse at Beverly whose her red hair shimmered in the sun.

_Like winter fire._

It was then that she noticed what remained of a brilliant blush leaving his cheeks. She had a knowing look, one that let Ben know that she had a feeling that Beverly was more than just a classmate to him.

"What's her name?" she asked, eyeing Ben who found the handle bars of his bike suddenly so interesting.

"Beverly. . . Marsh."

"Huh." Kimmy lightly bumped her shoulder into Ben's. Thankfully, her soft smile told him that she wouldn't keep probing him for more answers. "Ready to go to the library?"

"Yeah. Sure. Let's go."

Kimmy tugged something off of the concrete, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "Don't drag your headphones on the ground, Benny," she teased. "We're people, not monsters."

"I'll remember," he promised, placing them around his neck.

After ruffling his hair, which Ben failed to avoid, Kimmy wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "Come on. Let's hit those books of yours. I'm dying to find out what you'll come across this time."

With that, the siblings left, chatting about what they planned on checking out next. They also failed to notice the pair of yellow eyes that hungrily watched them from the shadows of the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing Ben and Beverly's interaction. It's one of my favorite scenes from the film, because Benverley for life. The next chapter focuses on Stan. Hmm. I wonder what it'll be about? 
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	10. Mike Hanlon and Stan Uris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day later than I said it would be up, but here's the new chapter :)
> 
> In other news, I was able to text Misha Collins! Granted, anyone can at the moment. It was still pretty exciting to get the chance to tell him how much I enjoy Supernatural and his character. Like, wow, okay. When do you ever get the chance to do something like that? I'm pretty sure the texts he's "sent" me are automated, so I'm still waiting for him to respond. . . if he responds. Until then, I'm happy with the automated messages and pictures he's sending to everyone.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own IT. Stephen King does.

Mike's grandfather didn't like going into Derry. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time the older man visited the town. If he needed something delivered or picked up, he'd send someone else. Always telling them before they left to not hang around once they completed their errand. But one thing Mike did know was the warnings that were whispered to him since he was old enough to talk. That something evil lived there, preying upon its people.

" _Nothing good ever comes out of that place,_ " his grandfather would tell him. " _Your parents were unlucky to find that out the hard way._ "

The memories of the brief amount of time Mike lived there were enough for him to not question him. Racism was present, be they through looks of distrust as he rode his bike or even a hateful slur thrown his way. Some of the folk he interreacted with were nice enough, asked him about his day and how he was feeling. But he never managed to form any lasting relationships, ones that made him damn all the warnings. It would only make things more difficult than they already were.

That all changed the day he ran into. . . _IT_.

His grandfather had sent him into town with a delivery of mutton for Quality Meats, a chore he did every other day. It would normally take no more than twenty minutes for him to leave the farm and give the shop's owner his meat. Mike found it to be the one thing he looked forward to. It gave him the chance to get away from the farm. To leave the expectations he had to face behind him. . . . Even though the run-ins he sometimes had with Henry and his goons did put him on edge. It was rather recent that he'd been tasked with assisting in the butchering of the sheep they raised. He hated looking into their innocent brown eyes as they filled with uncertainty. How their bleats of shock were cut short by the bars shot into their skulls. How he'd be the one responsible for taking their lives. . . .

As he rode further down Maine Street, he began to feel the weight he carried at home lift from his shoulders.

Though he could see why his grandfather distrusted Derry, Mike could also see what drew people in to it. There was a bookstore that had caught his eye, as well as a flower shop filled with sweet smelling blossoms. He even saw the beginnings of the Fourth of July Celebration posters taped to some of the old buildings. From the surface, it looked harmless, enough so to hide the ugliness beneath it. . . . Like the number of missing kids posters that kept growing at an alarming rate.

It was when he arrived at Quality Meats that Mike heard the familiar rumble of Belch Huggins' car. With a heart that felt as if it had stopped beating, he grabbed his bike and quickly made his way into the side alleyway. His pulse raced in urgency as he attempted to get out of sight before the racist teens spotted him.

He heard Henry's sleazy attempt to convince a girl passing them on the sidewalk to get in the car with him. Mike also heard her respond with angered disgust, "Creep!"

Seconds before the blue vehicle drove past, Mike managed to hide behind a collection of trash. Seemingly unaware of the victim it had missed, much to Mike's . All the while, he never once tore his widened gaze away from the road, breath heavy as he attempted to calm his nerves.

"Oh, Jesus," he whispered, hold on his handlebars tight, the anxiety of getting his ass kicked leaving him.

The chances of them coming back were slim, but Mike didn't want to press his luck by remerging from the alleyway. Instead, he took his bike from against the brick wall and placed it against a nearby dumpster. He caught a glimpse of the paint of the wall's long-forgotten mural. It had been sun-bleached from years of exposure and the lack of care in making sure it looked new again. Perhaps, Mike had once thought of the mural the first time he'd seen it, it had been of a clown, or even a circus. There was a chance his grandfather knew what it was in its prime, but the would only lead to him getting chewed out.

Mike shook his head, trying to push away any negative thoughts, and began to grab onto some of the wrapped lamb meat. It was when he heard the rattling of chains and rickety creaking of wood that the teen put a pause on the task at hand. Turning towards the back entrance, Mike peered at it with a mix of confusion and curiosity. Had that. . . come from the shop? Was someone trying to get out?

Just when he had begun to think that someone might need help, a violent _bang_ pushed the locked door forward. The chains stopped it from opening, producing a dark crack. Mike nearly dropped the orders he held, the fear that had begun to get ahold of beginning to creep back. What he saw next nearly made his stomach rise up to his throat. Charred hands reached out to grab onto what they could, billows of smoke puffing out around them.

_No! This can't be happening! Not again, no!_

_"Mike!"_ he heard the hoarse voice of his long dead mother scream. _"Mike!"_

With each plea, more and more burning hands reached out, frantically searching for a way out.

" _Hurry, son!_ " his father cried out, the orange glow of an approaching fire illuminating the far too many pairs of hands.

" _Help! It burns!"_

It was in the moment, that terrifying moment, that Mike was a toddler again. How he sat on his tricycle just outside his apartment door, messy tears falling down his cheeks. How he remained as still as an unmoving stone, the feel of a too hot radiator emitting from any cracks it could find. The fear of getting too close, of listening to his parents anguished cries as they burned alive. . . . It was too much for his young mind to handle, to face death as it slowly crept its way before him.

_What do I do, Mama?!_ he wanted to cry out. _What do you want me to do?!_

When it was almost too much for Mike to handle, they retreated as if a vacuum had sucked them in to itself. The door, which had been chained by the owner, burst open. In the cooler was what appeared to be someone hanging from the ceiling. Their body swung back-and-forth, chain clanking as it moved with their weight. Grunts Mike had only heard come from a pig came from them, adding to the tense atmosphere that had been created.

_Don't go near them,_ a gentle voice whispered in his mind. _They will only bring you harm._

The sound of sheep bleating, like the ones he watched die earlier that day, replaced their grunts.

_Innocent brown eyes staring up at him. Scared, weary of what his grandfather held in his hand. . . ._

As if they had heard Mike's thoughts, the bleating came to an abrupt stop. They turned their head to look at him, as if they were standing inches from him. With a _plop_ , they planted their feet on the ground. It was then that he could finally make out their shape. They, whoever they were, were a tall. Taller than anyone Mike had come across either in Derry or near the farm. And not just that. . . . They, _he_ , looked like a clown.

With a slow, exaggerated wave, the clown's eyes began to glow like a pair of blinding headlights.

Tires screeched from Mike's right, jerking his attention away from them. He barely had enough time to register Belch's car as it sped towards him. Before it could hit him, Mike fell back onto his ass. He ended up landing on top of a pile of cardboard boxes that smelled faintly of blood and meat.

With wide eyes, Mike watched as Henry stood atop the passenger seat. Rage contorted his body as he yelled, "Stay the fuck outta my town!"

While Belch gave him the finger, Henry flicked his cigarette butt at a cowering Mike. And just as fast as they had come, they sped off into the distance, leaving him alone with the -

He jumped when he heard the sound of chains again, readying himself to flee as fast as his legs could carry him. . . only to find the owner of Quality Meats standing in the doorway, rubbing his hands clean with a rag.

"Everything okay, Mike?" he asked. When the teen didn't respond, darting his gaze at his surroundings, he said with concern, "Mike? Are you okay?"

And to be honest, he wasn't sure. What he did know was that whoever had been in that freezer wasn't human, nor did they want to become his friend.

If only he knew how close to the truth he was.

* * *

Stan peered intensely at the Torah placed before him, forehead creased as he read through it. Although he wouldn't say he was fluent in Hebrew, he knew enough to be able to understand anyone who spoke it. He could even read some of it on his own. It just didn't come as easily for him, was something he had to take his time saying and/or reading. Though his mom told him that he'd be more than ready for his big day, there were others who would not let his few slipups go. In fact, they seemed to enjoy rubbing it in that he wasn't at their level. That, or they wouldn't speak to him without letting their condensation seep through.

He hated that he couldn't seem to please the people he felt like he needed to. That no matter what he said or did, no one would care until he fit their ideal image of the kind of person he should become.

Case in point, his father. Derry's one and only highly respected rabbi. The same one who paced back and forth above him as Stan made his way through the reading he'd been assigned to read.

For the most part, he had been doing fairly well. It would have been stronger had he not shifted most of his concentration of studying for finals. Now it seemed that he'd back tracked a little, a rustiness that it hard to miss if you knew what he was reciting.

When he stumbled with a phrase, he began to rake his memory for this particular passage. Before he could pick back up where he'd trailed off, is father sternly interrupted him. Stan listened as he said it with such ease that it made Stan stiffen as he began to shrink into himself.

"You haven't been studying, Stanley," his father told him, glaring into the back of his warm neck. "How's it going to look? The rabbi's son can't finish his own Torah reading."

Shame filled Stan, shame that he couldn't seem to do anything right when it came to his faith. A faith he had been born and raised on. A faith that had been fed and shoved down his throat. At this point, he didn't know what he wanted to believe. If it was a teaching that he believed in, or something that his parents wanted him to. . . .

"Take the book back to my office. Obviously you're not using it," he commanded.

His dismissive tone told Stan to leave without saying a single word, a sense of dread filling him.

The office itself wasn't what filled the curly haired teen with dread. It was, for the most part, fairly normal. Dimly lit, dust dancing in the streams of light that peeked through the blinds, the faint scent of coffee. No. It was that painting that hung on one of the walls. "Judith" was a piece that had been there for as long as Stan could remember. His father had once mentioned that it had been left behind by the previous rabbi, a second-hand gift. It was a painting that a former member had made in honor of the rabbi's mother. A testament to how much joy her music brought to the town of Derry. Stan had a feeling the reason why it hadn't been thrown out was because the rabbi didn't want to hurt their feelings. But not enough to feel guilty for leaving it behind when he retried not long after Stan had been born.

If it had been like any other painting Stan would have been fine. "Judith" was far from fine. From blending into the background. From being forgotten unless it was looked upon by a fleeting chance.

In it was a woman, one whose face was elongated, slanted at an odd angle that made it look slightly deformed. She had dark, mismatched eyes that peered into his soul and long fingers that were pinched onto the ends of a flute. She was, for every sense of the word, unnerving. And her mouth. . . . It was thin and narrow, just a couple of pale lines pressed tightly together. Stan use to think that they were hiding needle sharp teeth that were ready to bite onto anything that moved.

When Stan was younger, his father would berate him whenever he refused to step into the office.

" _It's just_ _a painting, Stanley. Stop crying. I told you to stop crying."_

And so, with much difficulty, he did.

Now, if he ever had to go into his father's office, he would cover one side of his face as he passed it. The latter of which being what he ended up doing as he went to return the book he held. His hand cupped the side of his bowed head as he held his breath, wanting to leave as soon as possible.

Logically, he knew that it couldn't hurt him. It was a painting, the woman within it merely a poor reflection of the one it had been based off of. . . . That still didn't mean he couldn't feel a great unease whenever he was near it, though.

Today, for the first time since god knew how long, Stan stopped.

" _You know what this means, don't you, Stanley? You're becoming a man. And a man does not back down when he is afraid."_

Slowly, he turned to look at the thing that made a simple task that shouldn't make his heart race with the urge to flee.

_I'm becoming a man_ , he told himself, eyeing "Judith" with an unwavering gaze. _I need to grow up. . . ._

It was when his heart had somehow managed to slightly calm that he realized it had become crooked. The need to keep everything neat began to beg him to fix it, gradually taking his uncertainty's place.

Shifting his hold on his father's book, Stan slowly made his way forward. A shaky exhale left his nostrils, one that could have been taken for displeasure or nerves. He took his free, clammy hand and straightened "Judith" back to its normal position.

He had managed to touch the frame for the first time in his life. It was an action, he had come to realize, that didn't lead to any known repercussions. It was because of this that Stan began to think that perhaps he had been childish. That what he had been so afraid of for practically his entire life was nothing more than a thing he could hold. A thing that he had the power to destroy or take care of, if he so desired to do either. Either way, this newfound discovery gave Stan the courage he needed to move on. Hands now holding onto the book, he closed the remaining distance between him and the shelves.

It was when he slid it into the only empty slot that the sound of clattering that an eeriness filled the air. Stan to leapt in place, his shoulders tense, once again. The painting was lying face-down on the carpet, inviting him to come and pick it up.

_It's just_ _a painting_ , he reminded himself before stepping forwards. _It's just_ _a painting. It's just_ _a painting. . . ._

But as he carefully hung it back on its nail, Stan could only stare at it with unnerving disbelief. The woman was gone, leaving nothing but a splotchy tan background.

Stan stepped back, breath heavy and ragged as his mind raced with a million and one things. How it wasn't possible. That she couldn't be missing. She wasn't a real person. Nothing painted on canvas could simply leave as if it were nothing. . . .

But where was she? Why wasn't she there? It had to be a trick of the light. Of course it was. There was no other way to explain it. . . .

He had crept back as he tried to figure out what was going on, his breaths ragged, body trembling.

The sound of a flute playing a haunting melody echoed from the closet, its door creaking open on its own. Stan watched as this unfolded, frozen. A horrifying thought that Judith was hidden within it crossed his buzzing mind.

_No. She. . . she can't be. That. . . that isn't possible. She isn't real. She -_

A metallic _thud_ interrupted his thoughts, jolting him back to his father's office. . . . Only, it hadn't come from the closest. . . It had. . . it had come from behind him.

But it was when he gradually forced himself to turn around that he discovered where the woman had gone. After a chocked, heavy gasp, Stan panted as he lost control of his breathing. The thing that he had been told to no longer fear stood before him, clocked in the shadows.

The unnaturally shaped woman that use to haunt his dreams, stepped forward. She peered down at Stan, eyes white, thin brows raised as she took in the terrified state he was in. As if she had sensed his fear, as if it were as tangible as rotting fruit, her lips parted to reveal rows and rows of teeth. . . just as he had once imagined them to look like.

She growled, lowly, reaching out to grab hold of Stan. Only he didn't stick around long enough for her to succeed.

Stan raced towards the door as if the world was on fire and slammed it shut behind him. He screamed as he flew out of the building, racing home on his bike without once looking over his shoulder.

Had he done the latter, he would have seen the silhouette of _IT_ as _IT_ shivered with delight. With a wild hunger, _IT_ watched him flee until his shrieks became nothing more than a faint echo. A low, gurgling sound rattled in _IT_ s throat as thick, foaming saliva dripped from _IT_ s mouth.

_Soon, Stan-y boy. Soon you will be mine, and all your worries will disappear as I much and crunch on your yummy skull._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have a thing for ending chapters from ITs perspective. I'm sorry if that's a bit redundant, but I kind of like it. I'd say that it won't happen again anytime soon, but all bets are off.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	11. Ben and Kimmy Hanscom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me forever to edit because I couldn't find it in me to sit down and go through it a few times. But, hey, it had to be done. It's not that I hate this chapter. I had hit a wall and was like: "Yeah, no. Not going to do that thing." Thank god that didn't last.
> 
> I started reading Carrie the other day, so that's fun. I'm only a few pages in, but I like it so far. If the original film is anything to go by, I'm going to enjoy this book. Once I'm done with Carrie, I'm plan on picking up Salem's Lot next. Aside from it being about vampires, I know nothing about the latter.
> 
> In other exciting news, I'm beginning to plan a trip out to Maine. I want to stay in or near Bangor and pop down to Salem, MA for a day. But since it's in the early stages of planning, the trip may or may not even happen. Who knows? Maybe I'll be looking at Stephen King's house sometime next fall (god, can you imagine that?). Perhaps I'll even see the Thing of Evil herself from afar (which I doubt, but I can dream).  
> I'm also planning to dress up as Richie for Halloween this year. My original plan was to be Dorothy, but I've been her twice already, so I thought going with something new would be fun. If I can get my costume together in time, I can go dressed as him to an IT pop-up that's at a bar in Chicago. . . . That is, if I can make it in before the end of the month.
> 
> Also, I found an amazing writer on Tumblr who goes by harringtons-imagines. They write head canons and imagines for IT, Stranger Things, Marvel, and Harry Potter. You should check them out.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Bullying, fat-shaming, and a character being cut by another character.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own IT. Stephen King does.

Kimmy glanced at Ben beneath her eyelashes as he carefully wrote on the back of a postcard. The same postcard he had insisted they buy on the way to the library. She'd been confused at first, wondering who on Earth he would send it to. It was when she saw his soft, dreamy expression that she began to put two and two together. It was for Beverly Marsh, the first person who had signed Ben's yearbook. The same girl she had seen him talk to when she met with him after school the previous day.

She had smiled at the sight of Beverly's signature, hovering over a row of hearts, when Ben shyly let her take it from him. Few people were kind to the Hanscom siblings, here in Derry or elsewhere. It was rare for them to even stick around long enough to have a yearbook from any of their previous schools. To see that someone had been kind enough to take their time do this small act for Ben warmed Kimmy's heart. Kimmy knew that he'd never admit to her that he liked someone, seeing as he did tend to be rather shy about certain things. Part of her was aware of the fact that he already knew that she knew, that all he'd need to do was give her verbal confirmation.

Out of everyone, the siblings knew how to read each other the best. Well, better than others, at least. It was because of this that Kimmy had worried more than once that he'd caught on that she had feelings for Zelda. The worry of him knowing she was bisexual, though, made her deny that he did.

After Ben had finished reading what he wrote beneath his breath, the sound of a bell chirping outside caught their attention.

Peering out the window, they watched as a group of boys rode down the street, hollering at each other. It took a second, but Kimmy was able to recognize them. It was Bill, Stan, Richie, and Eddie. As she the began to pass the library, Bill, who wouldn't let anyone go in front of him, called out, " _High-ho, Silver! Away!_ "

Hearing this sparked an interest in Kimmy. Not a lot of people around her age were into Westerns, let alone name a couple off the top oh their head. If they saw each other again, and the circumstances allowed, she'd ask about his taste in films. If this was anything to go by, perhaps he had some good insight on _The Lone Ranger_. . . .

Kimmy was pulled back in by the sound of something thumping against their table. Her and Ben glanced down at what sat before him, both of them eyeing it with curiosity.

"Found it," announced the librarian, Ms. Starrett.

Sure enough, the book Ben requested, _A History of Old Derry_ , sat before him in all its dusty glory.

"Isn't it summer vacation? I would think you'd be ready to take a break from the books?" she asked, tone and posture giving off I'm-an-adult-so-I-know-what's-best vibes.

"I like it here," Ben meekly told her.

And it was true. It was the place the two of them enjoyed spending most of their time. Unlike Kimmy, who would hang out with Stan over the weekends, there wasn't anywhere else Ben could or wanted to go. It was his one escape when he needed time away from the rest of their family.

"We _both_ do," Kimmy said, butting in with a look that read 'try me and see how far it gets you.'

It was then that Ms. Starrett seemed to realize for the first time that Ben wasn't exactly alone, that he had company.

"Kids should spend their summer outside with friends," the older woman continued. Her eyes, which were hidden behind a pair of large glasses, sent them pointed looks. "Don't you have any friends?"

"Don't _you_ know how to mind your own business?" Kimmy fired back.

Ms. Starrett glared at her, torn between telling her to mind her manners and acting as if she hadn't heard her.

"We're good. Thank you," Ben said in a rush, letting her know that he knew what Kimmy had said hadn't been appreciated.

With a quick succession of taps atop the book, Ms. Starrett let them be with a huff and an annoyed roll of her eyes.

Kimmy watched her retreat, making sure she wouldn't change her mind, when Ben said, "You didn't have to do that."

She shrugged her shoulders, going back to the comic she was in the middle of reading. "She was being rude."

"I know, but still could have left it alone."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"I don't know. . . . It's just that sometimes you get a little too. . . over-protective."

A bit taken aback by this, Kimmy snapped her head up to look at Ben. Her brother wore a look that was stuck between assertiveness and sensitivity.

"I was not being over-protective," she argued. "She was being a jerk, so I got her to stop."

Ben shook his head. "You only made it worse."

"I did _not_ ," she hissed back.

It was then that Ben's feelings finally came to the surface, the avoidance of directness gone. "She would have kicked you out, Kims."

"Good."

"No, _not_ good."

Silence hung between them, heavy and uncertain. Kimmy had begun to play with the corner of her comic while Ben stared down at the book he'd requested. The argument they were having beginning to sink in.

"I. . . I like that you stick up for me, Kimmy. But sometimes. . . sometimes I wish. . . ."

"That I didn't?" Kimmy finished, heart sinking to the pit of her stomach.

A beat passed, confirming that she was right on the money.

Trying not to let her emotions get the best of her, she swallowed the lump rising in her throat. This only proved to be a tricky feat once the prickling feeling of tears began to grow in the corners of her eyes.

"Kimmy -"

"I, um, I think I'm going to, uh, look for. . . look for something else to read."

Before he could say anything else, she got up from her seat, speed-walking to the back of the library. If she did, she would have lost it, drawing in the attention of the few other people who were there with them.

Once she rounded the corner, she carefully pressed her back against the shelf she stood in front of. When she titled her head towards the ceiling, beams of white-ish light hitting her. It stung her eyes, further adding to the blurriness she fought so hard to suppress. Her lips trembled, biting down on them to reduce the chance of a chocked sound escaping her.

It had been awhile since they'd argued, which she knew had something to do with their response to conflict. Their fights, big or small. would always throw her off balance once she took a step back and realized what they were doing. All it managed to do was leave a sour taste in her mouth, lingering like an unwanted after-taste.

Perhaps Ben was right. Perhaps she was a bit too-overprotective. But she couldn't help it. She hated it when people were awful to Ben. It was hard for her to stand by and let it happen without calling them out. Even if she had to resort to physically fitting them, she would - and she had, when they were younger. What would that say about her if she ignored it, let it pass on by as if it were nothing more than an after-thought? The funny thing was that she didn't usually do the same for herself. That could be due to how she couldn't see her own reactions, that it was all a matter of what she felt when it happened to her. Even if she did stand her ground for her own sake, she would almost-always end up giving in.

By the time she felt her world had become calm again, Kimmy had no idea how long it had been since she left Ben. So when she finally managed to take a deep breath, she returned, only to find an empty table as Ben was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

There was an egg sitting in the back room's hallway, steaming as if it had been taken out of a fireplace. He now knew how stupid of him it was to get closer to it, that he should have trusted his gut to find Kimmy and leave. When he saw another one sitting further down the way, his curiosity got the best of him. The further he went, the more he saw. Sitting there. Perfectly balanced. Steaming.

He hadn't realized he was in the basement until he stood between the rows of boxed archives. Of course that should have been the red flag that sent him scurrying back up the stairs. But it didn't. Instead, he picked up the seemingly final egg, twirling it in his hands. Though it looked like it would be hot, it felt cool - as if had been pulled fresh from a fridge. Its scorch marks staring up at him, challenging him to feel how unnatural it was.

The lights buzzed, flickering as if they were static on a TV, as the faint sound of chanting echoed around him.

Ben took a step back, readying himself to finally come to his senses. His feet stopped when he heard the amused giggles of a young girl.

Was there. . . was there someone else down here? Were they the one who let the red balloon he saw go, the thing that had led him to this bizarre trail of hard-boiled eggs?

He made his way further in, his breathing becoming heavy, heart pounding against his chest. A dark shadow, laughing with glee, rounded a corner, starling him. It was then that the feeling of uncertainty came back full-force, urging him to get out of there. Now. Fast. Don't look back. Keep running.

_Splat!_

Ben turned, hiding behind a pillar, as he gazed at the stairwell, mouth agape.

Someone was standing at the top of the final set of stairs, arms wrapped around a collection of Easter eggs. They began to descended, lumbering back-and-forth, slow and nearly unbalanced. It was then that Ben noticed that whoever this was did not have a head. . . That the steam he saw on the eggs that had taken him down here came from within them.

It was the boy from the Easter Explosion article, the one whose head Ben saw in the branches of a tree. He watched as the rest of the eggs fell to the ground, the headless boy's shoulders awkwardly hunched over. Stopping the moment he was in front of Ben. And then the headless boy twitched, lunging forward.

In the blink of an eye, Ben spun and raced down the aisles, the sound of aggressive footsteps thumping behind him.

The ability to think beyond getting away left Ben panting as he rushed through the tight maze. He narrowly avoided bumping into the sharp corners as he kept glancing behind him to see if he was fast enough. But the further on he went, the closer the headless boy was to closing in on him.

" _Egg boy!_ " a deep, raspy voice called out.

Ben wished he hadn't looked back, almost shrieking in terror at what he saw. Instead of the headless boy, a clown - with wild hair and cracked face paint - looked back at him. Wanting. Chortling. Ready to pounce.

It was then, as he began to dash up the stairs, that he plowed into hard into something. Or, rather, _someone_.

A disgruntled gasp left Ms. Starrett as the files she held tumbled around them. She puffed out a sting of air, spluttering for a response. It was when she managed to regain her bearings that she glared at the trembling boy before her. "What on _Earth_ are you doing?" she hissed.

 _The clown,_ he wanted to tell her. _There's a clown down here!_

There was no one else with them when Ben looked behind him. Only rows upon rows of metal shelves, neatly filled with cardboard boxes.

Without giving her an answer, Ben darted forward, making his way back upstairs.

* * *

The moment Kimmy had settled back into her chair, figuring that Ben had gone off to look for another book or article to inspect, he ran out of the back rooms, eyes wide.

"What were you doing back there?" she asked once he reached their table.

She didn't know what to expect to hear from him, she really didn't. But the last thing she thought he'd tell her was, "We need to go."

Kimmy watched as he rushed to grab his things, messily shoving all that he could into his backpack. "What? What do you -"

"Now. Like, _now_ now."

Concern replaced the confusion, what was left of her frustration now long gone. "Benny? What's wrong?"

" _Please_ , Kims."

She stared at him as he shakily zipped his zipper, bits of paper stopping in a few times from closing. Whatever had happened, she knew that she wouldn't get an answer until they left. Without another question, Kimmy did what he'd asked of her, albeit much calmer than he had been.

"Okay," she said, slinging the straps of her backpack across her shoulders. "We're going. We're gone."

As if he hadn't heard her, Ben made his getaway for the exit, causing Kimmy to lengthen her strides to catch up with him.

* * *

"So, want to tell me what that was all about?" Kimmy asked as they descended the steps.

For a moment, she thought that Ben wouldn't talk to her, that maybe he was still upset from their argument. It was when he took a slow, uneven breath that she knew that was far from what had gotten him shaken-up.

The worry she felt returned ten-fold, hitting her like a frying pan to the face. "Benny?"

Her brother looked at her, brown eyes unfocused and in a million places all at once. His fingers gently rubbed small circles over the postcard in his hold, putting it into a pocket in his pants. He looked so uncertain, as if he didn't even know what had freaked him out.

When he was finally on the verge of answering her, they heard a question that made their blood run cold. "Where are you off to, losers?"

Henry was leaning against Derry's solider memorial, one of his legs crossed over the other. There was a hateful look in his eyes, one that Kimmy knew meant their were in the deep shit.

Instinctively, she gripped Ben's backpack, pushing him forward with urgency. She was not going to let them hurt him. . . .

_Them. . . . Oh, god._

That's when she realized that the rest of his group were nowhere near him. Before she could do anything about it, it was too late. Two figures jumped out of the bushes, blocking the siblings from their path of escape.

"Gottcha!" declared Patrick in triumph as he grabbed hold of Ben.

"Benny!" she cried as Belch did the same to her.

Had Victor been the one to go after her, she might have been able to get away and shove Patrick to his ass. But with Belch. . . there was no way she was strong enough to do so with near ease. Her arms were shoved to her sides as the bully wrapped one arm around her chest and gripped her wrist in his other hand.

Ben cried out as Patrick and Victor grabbed hold of either one of his biceps, pushing him towards a chuckling Henry. His eyes glistened with glee as the siblings struggled to get away, even try to reach out to each other.

A smile, one that sent a shiver down Kimmy's spine, graced Henry's smug face as he looked her way. "You shouldn't have messed with me, brace-face."

* * *

"Wait!" Ben protested as the siblings were forced to walk further and further away from the eyes of town. "Leave us alone!"

"Fucking hold him!" commanded Henry.

Patrick chortled in response, "Smack him!"

"Don't let tubby get away!"

Initially, Kimmy had shakily spat a string of curses at them, which only spurred them on. They had laughed as they wriggled, around, feebly attempting to get away. Ben, who they knew couldn't run fast enough, was shoved between Victor, Patrick, and Henry. When Kimmy had almost gotten away, tripping over her feet as Belch swung her back around.

"Pick that bitch up!" Henry had yelled at Belch.

Belch gladly did as he was told. He'd scooped her up over his shoulder and wrapped one of his arms around the back of her knees so she couldn't kick him.

"Put me the fuck down!" she had growled, pounding her fists as hard as she could against his broad back.

All that had done was get her a few grunts and a roar of laughter.

"Get him!" Henry roared at Ben's cries for help. "Hold him, Hockstetter!"

Patrick raced behind Ben, pulling him back into his waiting arms. Victor flipped Ben's T-shirt over his head and began drumming his stomach, rolling his tongue.

"Stop it!" Kimmy shrieked, though she couldn't see what was happening. "Leave him alone, you fuckers!"

The wind was knocked out of her when Belch dropped her onto the ground. A wave of pain rushed through her, her breathing becoming a near impossible feat. She rolled onto her side, clutching her ribs as she brought her knees to her chest. Through the ringing in her ears and the haze of her watery gaze, she watched as Belch helped push Ben against a fence.

The feeling of being roughly pulled onto her feet brought Kimmy back to a slightly more stable state. Victor didn't even have to put much of an effort into keeping her where she was. All she could do was helplessly watch them mercilessly belittle her brother.

"Look at all this blubber!" exclaimed Belch.

Leaning into Ben's face, Patrick grinned maliciously. "Let me light his hair, like Michael Jackson."

The implication of what he wanted to do drew a squeak of anger from Kimmy, a sound that was weaker than she had expected.

"Just hold him," Henry said, pulling a knife out of one of his jeans' pockets.

"Get off me!" Ben screamed. "Get off me!"

A car rolling slowly past them drew in the attention of the teens. While the bullies looked on with worry, their targets felt a twinge of hope that they'd be saved. Instead of what they'd expected, the people inside of it looked at them with disinterest. . . . Almost as if they didn't want to get involved with what the teens were in the middle of.

"Help!" Ben called out again, watching as their chance of getting away crossed the bridge. A red balloon popped up in their backseat, bopping against the ceiling as the car hit some bumps along the way.

_No! Come back! Help us!_

"Help!"

His head jerked to the side when Henry punched him in the face, lips drawn up in a snarl, over and over and over again. As if getting back at him for what could have happened had the driver stopped.

" _Benny!_ " Kimmy screamed, gasping in discomfort when Victor jerked her back by her ponytail.

Blood trickled out of one of Ben's nostrils, dazed from the hits he had taken. Seeing this, Henry slapped his hands over Ben's ears and began to shake him back to his senses.

"This is what the locals call the Kissing Bridge," the leader of the bullies said.

_Kissing Bridge. . . ._

She looked around, the sight of a familiar red drawbridge towering above them. . . . The same place Zelda had kissed her back in November. . . .

"It's famous for two things," he continued, holding up a couple of his fingers. "Sucking face -"

Belch puckered his lips and made loud, wet sounds.

"- and carving names."

He flicked open his knife, happily glaring down at Ben as its sharp edges shone in the afternoon sun.

Kimmy's eyes widened in disbelief upon realizing what he intended to do. Not just to Ben, but also to her.

"Don't you fucking dare! Don't you fucking touch him with that!" she shouted shrilly, causing Victor and Belch to cringe for a moment.

Before Ben could beg Henry not to hurt him, the bully took his weapon and began to carve at his skin. Kimmy listened to her baby brother her best buddy in the whole world, cry out in agony as a giant 'H' was forced into his skin. She shrieked at Henry to stop, to get the others to come to their senses. If the way their jaws hit their feet was anything to go by, Belch and Victor didn't think that their friend would do this. Patrick was the only one of them he took immense pleasure in watching Henry take his bullying to the next level.

"Woah, woah!" protested Belch. "Henry!"

"SHUT UP!" he screamed, causing Belch to nearly lose his hold on Ben. "I'm going to carve my whole name into his fucking cottage cheese!"

In the blink of an eye, Ben brought one of his legs up to meet the asshole's chest. He pushed off of it with his foot, rolling over the fence and down into the woods below. Kimmy felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, giving her the strength she needed. With all the force she could muster, she hit the back of her skull against Victor's face. He grunted with a mix of surprise and pain as he let her go and stumbled backwards. She didn't linger, rushing down the road and into the woods, the June air brushing past her as she ran like a bat from hell. Never stopping for air, not paying attention to where she was going until it was too late.

* * *

Shaken up by what had happened, she didn't know how far she had run until she almost fell face-first into the foliage. A hiss whistled between her teeth as the sting on her palms and knees sent a shock of through her system. Her breaths were hard and labored, attempting to regain control of herself.

When the warmth she gained from her run felt as if it had begun to cool, Kimmy sat back on her haunches. Rubbing a thumb above the minor wound on her hand, she shifted her gaze around the area she had stumbled upon. It was then that she knew she was nowhere near anything she recognized. She was lost. Completely and totally stuck in the middle of Derry's woods.

" _Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit,_ " Kimmy said as she spun around, trying to find anything that looked somewhat familiar.

A scream echoed around her, rooting her to the ground.

Had that been Ben?

_Oh, no._

What if they caught Ben?! She needed to find him, and fast.

By the sounds of it, no one had followed her. And, if they had, it seemed like they didn't know which way she went. That was at least one good thing on her side, considering the hundreds of bad things that were against her.

But where to now? Which way would get her out, and which was the most-likely direction Ben could have gone?

Before she could come to a decision, the something softly cried out in despair. At first, she thought she had imagined it, but when it cried out even louder than before, Kimmy knew it wasn't in her head.

_Is that. . . a baby?_

As if answering her, the cries grew even more in volume. From the sounds of it, it was inches away, right behind a fallen log covered in moss.

Logic left Kimmy the moment she concluded that a defenseless baby had been abandoned. She couldn't leave it out here, vulnerable to the weather. Knowing that it didn't know what was happening, that their parents had left them to fend for itself. It was then that she made her way towards it, uncertainty weighing in on her. With the tips of her feet against the log, Kimmy looked over it to find a white blanket moving like a fat caterpillar. It whimpered, cries gurgling wetly in its throat.

When she went to pick it up, a force whooshed over her, making her stop, hands inches away from the poor thing.

 _Get out,_ a voice firmly told her. _Don't look back._

_What?_

Kimmy had begun to retreat into herself when a blood-curdling wail exploded from the heap. It kept bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down. In its wild movements, the blanket flung off to the side, revealing what was beneath it. It was the baby from _Eraserhead._ Alien-like. Warty. Scabbed. Tightly wrapped in bandages. Whimpering for mercy. Its eyes shot open to reveal a soulless, black stare.

With a scream that scratched at her vocal cords, Kimmy stumbled back. It was a wonder that she managed to catch herself before she could hurt herself again. She could hear the sound of scissors slicing fabric. The sound a the baby's gasps leaving its tiny lungs. The sound of organs spilling out in wet splatters.

The need to vomit began to overtake her, dizziness beginning to return with a vengeance. And she would have, had she not heard, " _Help me, Kimmy! Help me! My insides are outside!_ "

Arms, long and bone-thin, shot out of the baby's sides. They pulled it upwards, letting what was left of its body hang, organs dangling on the dirt.

" _What the fuck?!_ "

" _Let me grow inside of you, Kimmy! Let me grow inside of you so that I can become a baby you can love!_ "

With a mighty roar, the baby leapt towards her. Yipping in shock, she hit it as hard as she could, sending it soaring through the air. She didn't bother to wait to see where it landed. Following a powerful pull, Kimmy sprinted away. Tears of fear fell down her dirty cheeks as it remained on her tail, pitifully pleading, " _Please love me, Kimmy!_ " The more she ignored them, though, the more threatening they became. " _I told you to love me!_ "

_NO!_

Giving a final push of energy, she darted out of the trees and into. . . a jogger.

The two fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. She felt her right shoulder hit the ground, but not enough to cause anything more than a gnarly bruise. When the shock began to wear off, and she had clumsily gotten back up again, an annoyed voce said, "The _fuck_ are you doing?!"

Kimmy, having been brought back to a fraction of her senses, began to look around. It was then that she noticed that she was closer to the start of downtown Derry than she had thought she was. Beneath her was a road, cracked and sun-bleached. A man, a little younger than her mom, was bent before her. He looked at her as if she were crazy, proclaiming that the world was coming to an end. That's when she noticed that the baby wasn't yelling at her anymore. That there wasn't any trace of it nearby.

_What?_

" _Hello?!_ Are you deaf?"

All she did was look at him, frazzled. "S. . . sorry."

He rolled his eyes at her, hands resting on the small of his back. "Oh? You're 'sorry,' you say? Well, tell that to my back! I'm going to have to ice it when I get home, thanks to you."

Wanting to get as far away from the woods as possible, she took off, the jogger's protests fading away. She didn't care that she'd pissed him off, that he yelled at her. All she could think of was that fucking baby, its cries latching onto her like a terrible nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was interesting to write Kimmy's first interaction with IT. That scene looked a bit different from what it is now, though the baby was always going to be part of it. Honestly, I find how it ended up to be way more unnerving than my initial plan.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	12. Patrick Hockstetter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was pretty dark to write. Like, god. It's never fun exploring the mind of someone awful. I mean, IT and Richard are real pieces of work, too, but something about Patrick is a bit. . . yuck to convey. That being said: 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Bullying, fat-shaming, use of the 'd' slur, and character death.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own IT. Stephen King does.

The people of Derry knew that something was off about Patrick. How he'd only smile if someone was in serious trouble. How roadkill was gone in a matter of hours. How some of the stray cats had a tendency to disappear without a trace. How his baby brother had suffocated on seemingly nothing one night. He made others feel uncomfortable by merely passing them on the street. Made them flinch whenever he so much as coughed into his fist. Yes. There was something off-putting about the teen, as if a cloud of despair followed him wherever he went.

It really was his calling in life. After all, when you're the god of your universe, you can do most anything you set your mind to. Which, he supposed, was why he felt drawn to Henry, Derry's infamous bully.

Henry was cruel. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty if it meant demeaning anyone that could be perceived as weak. From dogs to the losers at school, he'd dig his claws in and raise his voice until his victims cowered beneath him. It truly was a wonderous sight to behold. Which is why he'd be brave enough to do some damage, or at least try to.

Sometimes Victor and Belch would let them know if they'd gone too far. These annoying protests were the reason why he didn't go much beyond empty threats. After all, you can't get your ass handed to you if you don't leave any evidence behind. Sometimes words were all he needed to scare the shit out of others. He found that this could be far more entertaining than beating the fuck out of his dorky peers. It tended to give him something to think about at night or when he had nothing better to do to occupy his time.

So when Henry wanted to show the new kids that they were the last people that should be messed with, Patrick agreed. More than ready to get his hands on the little freaks.

The fat one, Ben, who had a hard time getting away from them whenever they cornered him. Who hated conflict and had most-likely never won a fight in his entire sorry life. He was a middle schooler, a new kid who moved to town a couple weeks into the school year. Always hiding in the library, never interreacting with anyone, aside from his sister.

Ah, yes. Kimmy. The dyke. Or, maybe, she wasn't. Patrick didn't really care one way or the other. All he wanted was to get a reaction from her. But, perhaps, she was - considering that she was mighty close to Zelda before she went missing in November. She wasn't bad to look at, but she was far from the type of girl he liked to go after: pretty, social, and in possession of a mean streak. She looked like she should still be in middle school. With her tiny frame, oversized clothes, braces, and bouncy pony tails, she looked like she should still be in middle school. Regardless, it was always fun to make her squirm.

They had succeeded in getting them away from the rest of the town. Had held them captive at the Kissing Bridge. And oh how much he wanted to burn them with his lighter. But Henry had dibs, to do what he wanted before letting Patrick have at them. It was how guaranteed his chance to leave his mark, like the signature at the bottom of a painting.

But then Henry had let his guard down a little too much.

First Ben, bleeding from the 'H' that had been carved into his stomach, pushed himself off of Henry's chest. He rolled over the fence and tumbling down, down, down the hill before fleeing like his ass was on fire.

And then Kimmy fucking head-butted Victor before making a bee-line for the woods.

" _She broke my fucking nose!_ " Victor had moaned as he dramatically folded into himself, blood gushing down his face.

No one had cared enough to help him.

" _Go after her!_ " Henry had shouted at Belch.

His anger had sent their strong friend after her, not going nearly fast enough to catch up with her in-time.

Henry and Patrick were the only once to go after Ben, leaving a groaning Victor to get ahold of himself. Of course, Patrick was the only one who followed him, seeing as Henry had dropped his pocket knife. The one his father had given him. The one thing that would earn him one hell of a beating if he returned home without it.

The image of Sheriff Bowers hitting his son without mercy made Patrick smile. Even if it was from afar, he wished that he could witness it. So it was of no surprise that he left him on his own, yelling at the lanky teen to get down on the ground and search for it.

" _You want me to get our little friend, don't ya?_ " was the only thing he said before trekking after Ben, never stopping until he reached the river.

_If I were a fat, slow loser, which way would I go?_

He made the decision to follow the current. If he was correct, Ben's panic would have prevented him from thinking outside of the box. To choose the dumbest option presented to him, leading him to an eventual world of hurt.

_Predictable, aren't we?_

But of course he was. Everyone was. All you had to do was look close enough and you'd be able to calculate the most likely move. In the end, everyone was a pawn in the grand scheme of things - all except Patrick, of course. He made him own rules. Even if it meant he had to erase his infant brother from the picture.

It was when he came across the entrance to Derry's sewage system that he heard the sound of pebbles plinking.

_Oh, you're much more predictable than I thought._

As he made his way into the dank, putrid hideout, he took out his can of hairspray, along with his favorite lighter. He disregarded the water lapping at his boots and the trash that tapped his ankles as he waded further in. His gaze scanned his dim surroundings for any sign of the boy he couldn't wait to melt the skin off of.

"I hear ya, tits," Patrick called out in a sing-song tone when he heard the sound of clattering only feet away. When a stream of flames licked themselves to life, it illuminated two tunnels for him to take. "Don't think you can stay down here all damn day, now."

But the deeper he went, the quieter his victim became, as if he hadn't come here in the first place. And perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps Patrick had been wrong. Perhaps it had been a rat he'd been chasing. Perhaps -

" _You found us, Patrick,_ " someone whispered, their voice deep and hoarse.

Definitely not the new kid.

" _You found us, Patrick,_ " a girl quietly echoed.

_The hell?_

It was when he blew another round of hairspray into his lighter that he realized how grave of a mistake he had made. Him. The grand master of the universe. The god who made the rules and chose which ones he wanted to follow.

There, inches away, reeking of rank decomposition, were the faces of rotting children.

 _Zombie_ children.

They lumbered towards him, limbs limp, clothes covered in filth, faces sunken.

Patrick screamed as the girl leading the pack grinned at him. Her teeth were black, caked with dried blood, and in the beginning phases of rotting out of her skull. Gaze a soulless, milky white.

The sound of their giggles followed him as fled, breath heavy as he felt his heart begin to rise to his throat. Water flooded his nostrils when he tripped, face and shirt now covered in muck, as he struggled to come up with a way out. . . .

Nothing looked familiar.

How could it not be familiar?

He knew the paths he had taken, which should have led back to the river and the safety of the town.

But it was gone, as if it had never been there in first place.

When the sound of hungry chatter echoed around him, he knew that he had only seconds until they found him again. And so he chose the first tunnel he saw, racing down it as his limbs wadded through the almost ankle-deep water. For a moment, he thought he'd actually found the way out, that his mind had lied to him. . . . But when he saw the bars blocking him, trapping him, the fear began to spread until it had touched every inch of his body.

"Fuck!" he grunted, slamming his fists against the rusting bars.

He couldn't die. He wouldn't die. That. . . that wasn't possible.

The girl's laughter found him again, alerting him that danger was not far off his trail. From the corner of his eye, he could see the tip of a crowbar sticking out, begging him to take it. To defend himself with it to the death, if need be.

It was when he had a tight grip around his weapon that he saw a glossy red balloon floating its way toward him. It stopped before it hit his body, squelching as it turned itself until it revealed the words "I Heart Derry." Mocking him. Tormenting him.

With a thunderous _pop_ , the balloon exploded, revealing a tall clown. Blood trickled from his mouth and onto his dirty costume, chin titled, eyes glowing yellow.

For the first time since the birth of his brother, Patrick felt as if the world had begun to cave in around him. It was bigger than fear, of what those zombies had jolted through his system. No. This was unimaginable terror. Terror where you could feel death rumbling towards you at break-neck speed.

Patrick let out a shriek, shaking like a tree being uprooted, as the clown shook his way towards him, roaring through a wide-open maw.

The last that anyone ever heard from Patrick was his screams of agony as he was eaten alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was that. The next chapter is written, I just need to finish editing it, so expect to see that soon.
> 
> I'd also like to thank everyone who has bookmarked, subscribed, and/or left kudos. I'm always excited when I get a notification and feel so happy that y'all are enjoying this fic. It means a lot.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	13. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own IT. Stephen King does.

The door to Keen's Pharmacy slammed open as Kimmy raced in, hands tightly gripping its handle. Shifting forward, she managed to straighten herself, feet now still. When she heard the store's elevator music, she managed to take a deep intake of breath before letting it out.

 _It's okay_ , she tried to reassure herself. _That thing can't hurt you here._

Her still trembling body told her otherwise. A slight sting shooting across her hand that she remembered why she had come to the pharmacy in the first place. A headache had begun to form in the back of her head, an unfortunate result of headbutting Victor. With a final, deep inhale and exhale of breath, Kimmy turned and made her way over to the medicine aisle.

Thankfully, it didn't take long to find a bottle of Ibuprofen. Digging into the pocket of her jeans, Kimmy found enough cash to get the medicine she would need and a bottle of soda. But not much else once everything was said and done. . . .

Kimmy frowned at her measly amount of money. She'd been hoping to save it for another comic or a new stash of blank mixtapes. But the throbbing she felt reminded her that she'd be fighting this off for who knew how long if she didn't buy it. Besides, she'd have at least some money left over that she could set aside in a savings jar.

Sighing, she reluctantly made her way towards the back of the store. It was when she rounded the corner that she noticed a girl with gorgeous red hair staring at the shelf before her. There was a lost look on her freckled face as some of her fingers twitching with uncertainty. She looked familiar, as if she had seen her somewhere before. It was when the lighting caught the girl's hair, making it shimmer like a flame, that Kimmy realized why this was so.

"Excuse me," Kimmy said once she stood near the girl.

The red-head jumped back at the sound of the older teen's voice, eyes wide with worry.

"I'm sorry, but, uh, are you Beverly Marsh?"

Her confuses stares turned into weariness, bringing her lips in as if preparing for the worst. "I. . . am. How do you know my name?"

"Oh! Sorry. I'm. . . I'm Kimmy. Ben's older sister?"

It took her a moment, but the realization lit throughout her eyes. "The New Kid! I didn't know he had a sister."

"Yeah. That would be me."

The smile of amusement of Beverly's face began to drift away as she finally took in Kimmy's appearance.

"Are you okay?" Beverly asked. "You look like you look pretty hurt."

"Oh?" When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging above them in the aisle, she repeated, "Oh. . . ."

Her hair was a frizzled mess, a few leaves stuck in some of her brunette strands. There was no saving her clothes, which were stained and torn at the knees from one of her many falls. Even her face, which she had originally thought to be a little dirty, was covered in blood and many scratches. If her aunt didn't end up killing her, her mom most certainly would prevent her from leaving the house ever again. Not to mention how she still looked like she'd seen a fucking ghost. . . . If that ghost happened to be one of the things that had scared the living shit out of her since she was a little kid.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I, uh, just fell, is all."

She looked at the shelves they were in front of, a slight look of discomfort washing over Beverly again. Boxes upon boxes of colorful tampons and sanitary pads loudly stood before them. That's when the realization of what she'd done hit her. That she had butted in during something that she had no business knowing about.

"Oh, my god. I'm so sorry. I. . . I. . . . God, I'm so stupid. I'll, um, I'll see you around."

Kimmy had hardly taken a step forward when Beverly said, "You're a freshman, right?"

"I was, yeah."

Beverly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the tips of her fingers pinching bits of her maroon shirt. "Can you help me pick one of these out? I'm. . . I'm not sure which one to choose."

Now Kimmy was the one to feel uncomfortable. Heart rushed to her cheeks as she attempted to figure out how to respond to her question. It wasn't that she was steering away from it the topic because she didn't feel like helping a fellow girl in need out. It was the fact that she, at the age of fifteen, had yet to have her first period. A late bloomer, one whose body didn't quite match the rest of the girls in her year. In fact, she looked more like a middle schooler than she did a high schooler. It felt as if everyone else but her was staring to become a woman. . . leaving her behind and reminding her of yet another thing that made her an outsider.

Kicking the tip of one of her feet across the tile, Kimmy whispered, "Um. . . I haven't really. . . well, you know."

Now Beverly's eyes were wide for a completely different reason. "Wait. Really?"

"It's genetic," she blurted out. "All the women on my mom's side are like that."

"Isn't that unhealthy?"

She shrugged her shoulders, blushing at the idea of sharing something personal. Kimmy would have kept it to herself if Beverly didn't look so clueless. She could have lied, of course, but that didn't feel right. That she didn't need to pretend around her, that she wouldn't go blabbing this to the whole town. Instead, she looked back at the shelves and grabbed a familiar looking box. "I don't know a lot about these, but my mom uses this brand," she said, tentatively holding onto a variety box of Tampex. "I can pay for these, if you'd like."

"You don't have to."

"It's the least I can do."

Beverly looked at Kimmy as if she had no idea what she was talking about. Kimmy's face softened, a small smile growing as she said, "You were kind to my brother. That. . . that means a lot to me."

For a moment, shock ignited in Beverly's blue eyes, widening at this confession. It wasn't until she said "Thank you" with a smile of appreciation that Kimmy knew that she was okay with this.

Knowing that there was no way she could afford her medication now, Kimmy asked, "Do you like chocolate?"

"Um. . . it's okay. Why?"

"I heard that it helps."

After a moment of thought, Beverly nodded her head.

"Cool." Kimmy held onto the pill bottle, the knuckles of the hand that was gripped around it turning into a pale. Beverly's gaze drifted down to what she held, brows brought down in confusion. Not wanting to get one too many questions, Kimmy started walking down the aisle. "I just need to put something back, and then we can -"

A huff of breath escaped Kimmy when Beverly grabbed hold of her wrist and quickly pulled her away. "Wh -"

She looked over her shoulder in time to see a blonde girl make her way towards where the two other girls had just been. She was busy shifting through her backpack for something, unaware of what was going on before her. Turning back to look at Beverly, she ended up swallowing whatever reply she had planned on saying.

There, standing towards the middle of the aisle, was a small group of boys. Kimmy soon recognized the two that were standing, seeing as she had seen them about an hour prior. It was Bill and Eddie, a couple of Stan's friends. Their wide eyes fit the description of "deer caught in headlights" perfectly. A roll of bandages tumbled to the floor, drawing Kimmy's attention to Eddie's arms. They were full of supplies, enough to fill two or three first aide kits.

"What?" Kimmy repeated.

Her voice shocked the boy who was looking for something on the bottom shelf. Stan stood behind Bill and Eddie, shocked into the predicament they were in the middle of. The curly haired boy's gaze soon matched his friends' upon seeing them, mouth. A light blush spread across his and Eddie's cheeks, making a point to look anywhere but Kimmy's hand.

It was then that she remembered that she was holding the box of tampons in sight of everyone to see. Her embarrassment led her to hide it behind hers and Beverly's back to save them some discomfort.

A barely audible gasp from Stan caught her attention. She flicked her eyes towards her friend to see the worried look he wore.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

Ah, yeas. What had happened to her? Not much, aside from miraculously making it out alive from back-to-back dangerous encounters.

Not wanting to worry him, nor really get into the details of it all, Kimm flashed him a reassuring smile. "I fell while in the woods. Nothing to worry about."

She mentally slapped herself when Bill asked, "What were y. . . you doing in the woods?"

Kimmy made sure to focus on anything but the boys peering at her as if that would answer their questions. "Oh, you know. Some woods-y stuff. Nothing major or anything. . . ."

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid._

Wanting to move things along, Beverly asked the boys, "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business," Stan told her.

Unlike his friend, who wasn't willing to share any information, Eddie said, "There's a kid outside. Looked like someone killed him."

A fist gripped itself around Kimmy's heart, pulling it down to the bottom of her feet. Snapping her head in their direction, she unevenly asked, "What's. . . what's his name?"

" _Shit_ ," Eddie said under his breath, not looking her in the eyes.

But the way Stan looked at her apologetically, was enough of an answer.

_Oh, my god. Benny._

She dropped the things she had in her hold and swiftly made her way towards the exit, beginning her search for Ben.

* * *

"Ben?! Ben?! Where are you?" Kimmy called out, beginning to frantically make her way down the sidewalk.

She hadn't seen him outside of the store, nor anywhere on her right. He had to be somewhere nearby. Eddie had told her so. And unless Bowers had found him again. . . .

As a wave of nausea rippled in her stomach, someone called out with a poorly done Spanish accent, "Over here, Señorita!"

Within an alleyway, Kimmy saw a boy waving at her, a beaming smile on his face once their eyes locked with each other. It was Richie, the missing member of the friend group. Shifting her focus towards the boy sitting against the wall, a gasp of worry and relief left her. She sprinted towards them, ignoring the aches that were throbbing throughout her body.

"Shit, did Bowers fuck you up, too?" Richie asked the moment she came to a stop, bending over to catch her breath.

"Hardly," Kimmy huffed, no longer in the mood to deny that she was fine and dandy.

As Richie gawked at her dismissive response, she knelt down in front of Ben. Tears began to prickle in her eyes at the sight of him. He looked even worse than her. Twigs were stuck in his hair and a spot on his T-shirt looked like the remains of a spilt chocolate milkshake. Kimmy wanted nothing more than to crush him in a hug, but held back in fear of making his cut even worse than it already was. Instead, she grabbed on to one of his hands.

"Fuck, Ben," she said, knowing better than to ask how he was.

If she was far from being okay, she couldn't imagine how bad he felt.

"Ditto," he said in return, having noticed how shaken up and injured she was. "How'd you get away?"

"I, uh, may or may not have head-butted Victor?"

A chortle interrupted them, causing them to look at Richie with slight annoyance.

"You head-butted Victor? _Victor_ as in _Victor_ Victor?" asked Richie, having managed to regain some control over himself.

"Um. . . . Yes?"

This only seemed to further send him reeling. Richie had bent over, arms wrapped around his waist, as he continued to laugh. "That's. . . badass, dude!"

Ben and Kimmy shared a look, one that silently asked the other how they should respond to this. Soon enough, a small chuckle left Kimmy as she remembered Victor's reaction (well, from what she heard, at least).

"Yeah. I guess it was."

The sound of squawking and feet hitting pavement came racing down the alleyway. Rushing towards them, was Bill, Eddie, and Stan. Some of the supplies Eddie held fell out of his arms, which Bill or Stan would pick up as they attempted to keep up with him. Finally, they stood before them, panting from nerves and excitement.

Wasting no time, Eddie told Kimmy to move, which she clumsily did, standing far enough to give him space. After inspecting Ben's wound, Eddie began the process of taking care of it. She bit her lip as she watched the small boy begin to grab the things he needed with ease.

"Whoa," she remarked as she pulled the sleeves of her shirt over her palms. "You seem to know your stuff, Eddie."

Eddie's chest puffed at her comment, pride covering every inch of his small frame. But before he could respond, Richie said, "He's a hypochondriac, so it's kind of his job to know how to fix owies and boo-boos."

"Why the fuck would you say that?"

"'Cause it's true!"

"You know what else is true? You sound like a baby when you say 'owies' and 'boo-boos.'"

"Oh, yeah?"

"That's what I just said, so 'yeah!'"

Stan rolled his eyes as the two bantered, as if this wasn't the first nor the last time that the two of them would get into it. Ben remained silent through it all, shifting awkwardly as he tried to figure out if it was best to stay quiet or not. Kimmy watched everything unfold around her with amusement.

The sound of someone giggling got everyone to shut-up and look at her. It wasn't too long after that she realized that they were coming from her.

"I'm. . . I'm sorry. It's just that. . . . Oh, my god!" She shoved her face into her hands, the events and emotions she'd felt finally catching up to her. She hissed in discomfort when her head reminded her that she needed to begin taming it, lest she stay up all night.

"Jesus. Did you knock something loose when you head-butted Victor?"

That got her to abruptly stop giggling.

"I'm sorry, she did what now?" asked Eddie.

"Head-butted Vic," Richie repeated. "You know, like, in the face?"

"I know what a head-butt is!"

The two soon resumed their bickering, forgetting the topic that Richie had brought up. A light, uncertain tap on her shoulder drew Kimmy's face out of her hands and looking up at an awaiting Stan. He was holding something, though she was oblivious to how it was slightly shaking. It was a bottle of Ibuprofen, probably the one she had unknowingly dropped on her way out.

"You, uh, forgot this," Stan quietly told her, eyes focused on his shoes.

She looked between the bottle and her friend, a warm feeling spreading through her. "Stanley Uris," she began with a smile. "Did you steal drugs for me?"

Stan took a sharp inhale of breath at this remark. "Well. . . yes," he finally managed to sputter out, cheeks tinted a light pink.

Saving him, Kimmy gingerly took the bottle from him, her smile growing bigger. She didn't think anyone would care to notice that she'd gotten something from the pharmacy - she hadn't.

"Thank you, Stan. Really."

She tore off the wrapping and hurriedly unscrewed the top, popping two of the red pills into her mouth. Kimmy pinched her nose between her fingers, swallowing them dry. Knowing that some of the pain would soon begin to fade, a little bit of the tension began to leave her shoulders.

"No problem," he said, a tiny smile of his own making an appearance.

It was then that he noticed the scrapes on her hand, how they still were far from being clean and unbandaged. Stan quietly cleared his throat, just loud enough for Kimmy to hear.

"Is it alright if I. . . ." he began to ask, pointing at what he was referring to.

Catching on, Kimmy nodded her head, trustingly holding them out for him to look at. He knelt down beside her, carefully taking them in one his own. The warmth of his skin against hers felt nice, reassuring. A sigh left her, beginning to feel to shit she'd faced begin to drift to the back of her mind. She missed the way his blush had begun to spread to his ears at the contact they made. Instead, she mistook the way he pointedly looked at her injuries was just him inspecting them.

Having gotten an idea on what they needed, he grabbed some Band Aides and a couple of antiseptic wipes. Kimmy watched him as he began to clean her scrapes. He looked so focus, as if what he was doing was super important. Some of his curls softly swung with each movement he made, adding to the seriousness of it all.

She must have begun to hum at some point, because Stan spared her a quick glance.

"Is that your favorite song?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"The one that you're humming?"

"Which. . . one is that?"

"'Take On Me.'"

_Oh!_

"Yeah. . . it is."

A moment of silence hung between them as they fell back into the rhythm they were in.

"You do this often?" she finally managed to ask.

"Clean up my friends messes? Not as often as you would think."

"Ha, ha. Very funny, Stan."

He shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say? I'm a funny guy," he said as he placed a bandage over the remaining scrape on her palm.

His fingers lingered over it, as if unsure what to do next. For a moment, Kimmy though he'd gotten stuck in his thoughts until he shifted his brown gaze to Kimmy's hazel one. "Does that help?"

"Tons," Kimmy said, nodding her head and placing a hand on top of his forearm. "Thanks for helping me."

"You're welcome."

* * *

Richie watched this unfold from the moment he noticed Stan take some of Eddie's supplies. Eddie, of course, wasn't happy that the stuff he needed had been taken until Richie shushed him. The four other boys looked on as a love-struck Stan the Man helped the girl he was head-over-heels for. They had been talking quietly enough so that anyone who wasn't them needed to focus. But he was pretty sure that his best friend was close to imploding on the spot at the mere contact he had with her.

It was. . . cute, he supposed, watching his quiet and responsible friend interreact with Kimmy. They had a relaxing aura about them. It was like everything about their friendship was simple, easy. A rhythm that couldn't easily be disrupted.

Eddie didn't watch them for long, insisting that he needed to get back to Ben's wounds. Something about the faster they took care of it the better it would heal.

Whatever it was, he was much more interested in what was unfolding off to the side. Even if Eddie kept snipping at him to hand him things.

_Bossy, bossy._

It was a good thing he liked him, otherwise he would have called it a day and left him to his own devices.

* * *

"Oh, god! He's bleeding! Oh, my god!" Stan exclaimed, gaze wide in panic, as they watched fresh blood begin to trickle out of his wound.

"Is it suppose to do that?" asked Kimmy, eyeing Ben's wound worriedly.

Eddie, eyebrows brought down in concentration, didn't look away from Ben's wound as he said, "Shh! You guys need to stop talking."

"You have to suck the wound before you apply the Band-Aids," remarked Richie in frustration. "This is 101."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you okay?" asked a familiar voice, jolting the four of them away from the task at hand. Beverly kept his focus on Ben, concerned about what Bowers had done to him. "That looks like it hurts."

Ben brought down the section of his shirt that he had been holding, hurriedly smoothing it out. "Oh, no. I'm good," he told her, attempting to sound cool and like what had happened to him wasn't that big of a deal. "I just fell."

Richie scoffed at this. "Yeah. Right into Henry Bowers."

"S. . . shut it, Richie," Bill warned, who stood beside the red-head who'd helped them get their supplies.

"Why? It's the truth." He glanced at an uneasy Kimmy, whose lip was close to gushing a rive of blood. "Right, Kimmy?"

"Richie!" Stan protested, glaring the glasses-wearing boy,

He looked back at Stan, befuddled, failing to notice how the siblings shifted in their seats.

Of course telling him even the slightest about what had happened would come back to bite her in the butt. . . . Then again, who was she trying to fool? They seemed to have already suspected that something was up the moment they saw her in the store.

"You sure they got the right stuff to fix you up?" asked Beverly, the corner of her lips pointed upwards as she sent Ben a tiny wink.

That seemed to cheer her brother right up for he let out a soft chuckle with a semblance of a smile. The rest of the group had caught on that there was something else behind those words, though they had no clue what.

"You know, w. . . we'll take care of him," promised Bill, regaining everyone's focus. "Uh, thanks again, Beverly."

This dismissive tone, though not out-right rude, caused Beverly's face to fall. "Sure. Maybe I'll see you around?"

Realizing his mistake, Bill added on, "Yeah, w. . . we were thinking about g. . . going to the quarry, tomorrow if you wanna. . . if you wanna come." As if remembering that Beverly had yet to befriend the rest of the Losers, he turned to Kimmy and Ben. "You g. . . guys could come, too, if you'd like."

Though she hardly knew Bill, there were two things Kimmy had picked up on. He was the leader and he had an air about him that made it seem like everything were his idea all along. Definitely a charmer, that one, full of charisma and a sense of control.

"Sure. Sounds fun," said Kimmy, looking at her brother who nodded his head after a moment of thought.

"Good to know," was Beverly's reply. "Thanks."

With a wave good-bye, the red-headed teen let them be. Suddenly, Kimmy remembered what she'd promised to do.

"Beverly! Wait!" she called out, getting back on her feet and making her way after her.

Towards the end of the alley, Beverly stopped and waited for Kimmy to catch up, waiting for her to say something.

"I, um, I never paid for -"

"It's alright. We're good."

"I - "

"You helped me figure things out. That's more than enough," she said, sending her another one of her corner-lip grins. "See you soon? When no ones bleeding or needs to steal shit?"

"Wouldn't that be nice," Kimmy laughed, the other girl joining her for a second.

With a final nod, Beverly turned and continued on to where she'd been heading before Kimmy stopped her. "See ya," she said over her shoulder.

"Yeah," Kimmy said, happy to have finally met the girl her brother adored. "See ya."

* * *

Stan wasted no time in berating Richie the moment both Beverly and Kimmy were out of ear-shot. "Nice going bringing up Bowers in front of her."

"Yeah, dude," agreed Eddie. "You heard what she did."

"What she do?" Ben softly asked, peering up at Eddie - brows brought together as he wondered what he had referred to.

Richie wore a shit-eating grin at Ben's question.

_Here we go._

"More like 'who'd she do.' From what I hear, the list is longer than my wang," Richie said, teasingly placing one of his hands over his groin.

"That's not saying much," Stan remarked, smiling when his friend sent daggers his way.

Honestly, if he wanted people to laugh, he should come up with stuff that was actually funny.

"They're just r. . . rumors," interrupted Bill, defending Beverly when she herself couldn't do so herself.

"And what are those?"

All five boys startled at this, having been too invested in their conversation. Stan felt guilt begin to gnaw at his stomach the moment his eyes landed on Kimmy, shifting her gaze between them.

God, he loved her eyes. They were more on the brown side with green and amber undertones spattered around them. Like autumn leaves, crisp and vibrant. Ready to fall but not quite ready to let go of the branches they were still attached to.

"Christ, do you have to sneak up on us?" demanded Richie, hand placed over his heart.

"I wasn't sneaking," Kimmy defended. " _You_ just weren't paying attention."

Stan couldn't help but sinker at this, especially with the stunned look Richie sent Kimmy's way. As if he hadn't expected her to throw something back at him. And then he grinned, dark eyes sparkling with mirth.

" _Ah-ha!_ Just as I suspected! You're an eavesdropper!"

She playful narrowed her eyes at him, returning an equally mischievous smile of her own. "And _you're_ a little turd."

Richie's face fell dramatically. He placed the back of his hand against his forehead, pretending like he was on the verge of fainting. "Alas, you have discovered my true form."

Though Richie was annoying, there were moments where he drew out a positive response to his jokes. While most of them shook their heads in amusement, Eddie sent their friend a glare to knock-it off. It was because of this that Richie was able to gloss over the question Kimmy had asked them.

"Anyway," continued Richie, looking at a squinting Ben, "Bill had her back in third grade. They kissed in the school play. The reviews said you can't fake that sort of passion."

It was true. Out of all their classmates, Bill and Beverly use to have the best chemistry. They had once been drawn to each other. Always sitting close to each other, hands inches away from touching as they waited for their cues. You could almost feel the electricity radiate off of their lips when they shyly kissed. It wasn't as memorable of a play, seeing as no one could really remember the name of it off of the top of their heads. That kiss, though, was something that stuck with the friends long after their final bows.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed how Kimmy wore a tiny frown of worry that was directed at Ben. The latter had his gaze glued to the pavement, a forlorn look etched into his face.

With a clap of his hands, Richie exclaimed, "Now, pip-pip and tally-ho, my good fellows and lady. I do believe this chap requires are utmost attention. Get in there, Dr. K. Come on, fix him up!"

Eddie, who had been patted on the shoulder by Richie, bent back in front of Ben to pick up where he had left off. "Why don't you shut the fuck up, Eisenstein, because I know what the fuck I'm doing," he said in one breath. "And I don't want you to do the British guy with me right now," he finished. Trying his absolute hardest not to look at the smirk Richie wore whenever he had found a way beneath his skin.

" _That_ was a British accent?" interrupted Kimmy, nose slightly crinkled.

"What the hell did you think it was?"

"I don't know? An auctioneer?"

That got a round of light laughter from everyone, aside from Riche who looked as if he had been stabbed in the heart.

"You wound me, M'lady," he said in a much more pronounced British accent.

"Wow," Eddie said dryly, never taking his eyes off of Ben as he steadily cleaned another section of his wound. "Someone's finally gotten through to you."

Shaking his head, Richie gestured his hand towards Ben's injury and said, "Suck the wound. Get in there."

"Like a leech?" asked Kimmy.

" _Exactly_ like a leech!" he excitedly exclaimed.

"Will you two stop talking?" Eddie barked. "You're making it hard for me to focus."

While Kimmy breathed out a laugh, Riche decided to ignore this. He decided to instead explain why this was such a great idea, that this was what was done in the "olden days." Stan looked down at Kimmy as she smiled as the two began to banter, once again. Unaware of the starry-eyed boy who thought she was the coolest girl he'd ever met.

She almost caught him when she sent him an amused look, as if saying "your friends are pretty great." Stan felt his stomach begin to flutter, nodding his head in agreement.

_But you're even greater._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a fun chapter to write. I'm so happy that Kimmy and Richie are, like, officially interreacting with each other. It was one of the things I was most looking forward to. And, oh, my god. Stan is too precious for this world. I could go on and on about what I liked most about this chapter, but that would take an entire chapter's worth of time, lol. 
> 
> The next chapter won't be done as quick as this one was, so I have no idea when I'll upload the next one. I'm also going to work more on my Swamp Thing and Stranger Things fics, so that'll likely keep me away from this fic for a bit.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	14. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took me longer than expected to write. (Ah, the joys of being a writer.) I would have finished it sooner, but my mental health wasn't in a good place. I also started a new job a few months back, so both of those things took away a lot of my motivation to write. I was also kind-of seeing someone for about a month, sooooo, yeah.
> 
> On an unrelated note, I've begun watching Boy Meets World. I kept watching Girl Meets World clips on YouTube, which led me to creating an OC. I didn't want to further flesh her out until I saw the show it was based off of. Now I'm hooked and don't know what to do. (send help, please.)
> 
> That's about it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own IT. Stephen King does.

To say that eating dinner with one of the girls who made Kimmy's time at high school a shitty experience was uncomfortable as fuck would be an understatement. Her anger at the very thought of someone who hated her guts pretending to act like the most civil person in existence was nearly impossible to suppress. Then again, it did help a little that Jim wanted to get the evening over with as quick as possible.

_That's what you get for being an ass._

"How do you like your roast, Melissa?" asked Kimmy's mom, shifting her food around as she attempted to gage what kind of person her nephew's girlfriend was.

Melissa, all gums and teeth, smiled at her in a strange attempt to look innocent. "It's _wonderful._ Thank you."

The sound of Kimmy's fork hitting her plate loud enough to draw in everyone's attention followed suit. Jim looked like he wanted the Earth to swallow him up, her mom looked confused, her aunt had murder in her eyes, Melissa looked way too pleased, and Ben sent her a knowing look.

"Is there a problem, young lady?" her aunt nearly growled between her teeth, making it painfully clear that she would kill her if any damage had been done to her cutlery.

Biting back a nasty reply, Kimmy looked down at her sad collection of meat and potatoes. "No, Aunt Jean."

A dismissive sniff came from her aunt, bringing the entire dinner table back into a somewhat silent atmosphere. For a moment, Kimmy thought it would remain as such, that perhaps dinner would be a much quicker affair than she had expected.

All hopes of getting away from Melissa any time soon were dashed when said nightmare girl ruined it by saying, "So, I heard that Jim is going away to summer camp."

Jim immediately sent daggers Kimmy's way, which Kimmy responded to by holding her hands up as if to say 'don't drag me into this more than I already am.'

A look of smug pride possessed Aunt Jean, sitting even more ram-rod straight than she already was. "Why, yes, he is. He's going to be an assistant camp counsellor, helping spread the word of god to children who are still in elementary school."

Melissa leaned into Jim, placing a hand on top of his. "Oh! How exciting! I bet he'll be able to use the phone, then, so he can call to check up on you."

"We're only allowed to use them in an emergency," Jim grumbled, sliding his hand out from under Melissa's and using it to drink from his glass. "And we only get mail once a week."

Anger briefly flashed across Melissa's eyes, as if her evil plans (which, in a way, were) had been unexpectedly thwarted. Perhaps this would sway her away from using the threat she made to Kimmy the other day, seeing as it had been confirmed that there wasn't much she could do. Maybe even pocket it away for a rainy day, one that she hoped she'd be long gone from Derry when that came to pass.

Just as soon as it had appeared, Melissa's rage seemed to simmer down a seemingly considerable amount. "Then I'll make sure to write you a letter every week," she told him in a cheerful tone of voice, one that made Jim attempt to scoot further away while Aunt Jean gushed about how sweet of a girl she was.

Of course her aunt would love Melissa. She was probably like her when she was their age, plotting to hurt those she disagreed with and using prayer as a way to judge others with.

There was a saying Kimmy sometimes heard on the East Coast, one that some of the religious folk would use if someone was letting things get out of hand, that they were misinterpreting the scripture in a dangerous way: "Don't pull a Margaret." Kimmy had a faint idea as to what they were referring to, so she knew that her aunt thankfully had a lot of catching up to do if she wanted to live up to the saying's name sake. But still. She wouldn't be surprised if her aunt wailed on her for even thinking about saying that to her.

Kimmy shoved a tough piece of meat into her mouth, biting down as hard as she could in an attempt not to say something that she would end up regretting.

When the conversation began to lull again, Kimmy dared to finally ask, "Is it alright if I bake some cookies after dinner, Aunt Jean?"

Though their relationship was far from perfect and hardly tolerable, there was one thing Kimmy knew would earn her brownie points from her aunt: a willingness to partake in domestic duties. It seemed to be the only time her aunt was somewhat decent while interacting with her.

"Oh, what for?" asked Aunt Jean, lips puckered in a straight line.

"Ben and I are meeting up with some classmates tomorrow. I wanted to make something for us to snack on."

"You are?" said her mom, looking both hopeful and curious at the possibility of her children having friends.

"Yeah."

She could feel Melissa staring at her and Ben, taking in the interaction to see whether or not her interference would be worth the energy.

"Make sure that you clean up after yourself," said her aunt, returning to what was left of her meal. "And that you finish your chores for tonight."

That had been. . . a better response than Kimmy had anticipated. For a moment, she thought that Aunt Jean would nag her about what kind of people she passed the time with, that she should always be wary of those who were "no good ruffians." Then again, the idea of Kimmy being somewhat of a lady was most-likely more appealing to her aunt than nagging at her all hours of the night.

Instead, Kimmy nodded her head, thanking her aunt for letting her borrow the kitchen for an hour or two.

For the remainder of the meal, Kimmy could feel Melissa peering at her, calculating what to do next. She tried not to let the burning feeling sent her way ruin what little leniency with her aunt that she'd been given. Not to mention how perfect little Melissa could do no wrong in Aunt Jean's eyes. If she allowed the girl who liked to mess get into her head, she'd end up meeting a world of hurt. There was no way that she wanted to spend her night scrubbing things from top to bottom, to be banned from leaving the house tomorrow. Her mom would only go along with it just to keep what little peace the family had.

Finally, after an hour more of Jim trying to lean far away enough to not have Melissa cling on to him, Have Dinner with Jim's Girlfriend was over. Of course, Ben and Kimmy were tasked with cleaning things up, washing the dishes, and putting the leftovers into the fridge while everyone else gravitated towards the living room. She could hear Aunt Jean and Melissa laughing like there was no tomorrow, Jim's occasional mumbling, and her mom's voice softly adding on to whatever had half of them reeling.

"You going to join them?" Kimmy asked once the final plate had been dried and put into its proper cabinet. "Sounds like they're having a grand ol' time."

"No thanks," Ben said. "I think I'd rather stay here with you."

"I don't blame you." Kimmy peeked around the corner, hands resting on the doorframe to get a better glimpse at what was going on. "You think they'd miss us?"

"Mom might."

"Eh." Spinning on the balls of her feet, Kimmy slowly made her way towards the pantry. "Can you get me some bowls, please?"

Sure enough, as the Hanscom siblings quietly talked amongst themselves - the oldest of the two mixing the dough together with practiced ease -, Melissa and Jim made their way towards the front door. The auburn haired girl cheerfully called out how wonderful the meal was, the woman she directed this to happily thanking her and telling her to come back again soon. Jim impatiently pounded his way out onto the porch, a warm spurt of wind flowing into the front hallway as he held it open, hand gripped around his girlfriend's wrist, tugging her out with him.

"What a nice girl," Aunt Jean loudly said. "If only your daughter was as delightful as her."

Kimmy's mom didn't respond.

A warm, reassuring hand carefully pressed itself on top of Kimmy's shoulder.

"Kims?" asked Ben. "Are you okay?"

She was about to say that, yes, she was. Why wouldn't she be? But then she saw her reflection in the kitchen window.

Her eyes full of hurt and irritation, lips quivering as if she were holding back a shocking, gasping breath that resembled a sob. And Ben, the truest and most loyal friend she'd ever and always have, looking at her with so much concern and understanding that her heart ached.

Placing a powdered, slightly sticky hand atop Ben's, Kimmy gave her best attempt at a smile. "I. . . think so. Thanks, Ben."

Ben would have responded, no doubt, if it wasn't for the sound of low hissing coming from outdoors. For a moment, Kimmy thought that a couple of cats had gotten into a heated territory argument. But when her gaze landed on the source of the sound, she realized that she was so very wrong.

Standing at the edge of the driveway were Jim and Melissa, inches apart and yet thousands of miles away from each other. Kimmy couldn't hear what they were saying, but judging by the angry red that slowly crept across their necks and faces, as well as how their lips were drawn up into harsh snarls, whatever it was wasn't good.

"Think they're going to break up again?" she asked Ben, the two unable to tear their gazes away from the argument unfolding before them.

Ben shook his head with some uncertainty, taking a step closer to the counter. "I don't know. This seems different."

And he was right. Of all the times that the two had broken up, it was never like this: reserved and out-in-the-open all at once, nor lasting more than a minute or two. No. This had to be the end all of end alls, the final chapter in their time as a couple. She couldn't believe it, but if what she thought was happening was occurring, then they were done for good.

"Should we even be watching this?" Kimmy whispered, as if afraid that the couple would hear them before pouncing upon the eavesdroppers.

"Probably not."

Yet they still watched on baited breath until, finally, Melissa bit back a fearsome screech as Jim turned sharply on his tail and rushed back indoors. The front door slammed open and shut in a matter of seconds, Aunt Jean calling out to Jim in aggravation, only to receive a "harrumph" in response.

Stopping halfway up the stairs to the second story, Jim snapped his head in the siblings' direction, a glare of warning sent their way: Don't you ever talk about this. And then he was gone, the sound of his door thudding against wood the final exclamation to his departure.

"Wow. That was -"

Kimmy didn't hear the rest of Ben's remark. Instead, she felt the heat of a thousand daggers piercing the back of her head. It was then that she noticed Melissa still standing where they had last seen her, rage upon rage upon rage howling around her in a cloud of fury.

It was then that Kimmy knew something incredibly dangerous had been unleashed tonight, and she was scared of what this held for not just her family, but for her, as well.

* * *

Staring ahead, with the afternoon sun shining around her, Kimmy's felt her feet plant themselves to the ground, unwilling to take another step closer to the edge of the Quarry. She had thought that she could be brave just this once and take a leap into the murky water below. But then the impending fear that nibbled away at her chest whenever she was too high up, of peering down at something that felt like an eternity away, made her stop and reconsider the choices she'd made that led her here.

This is what she got for being too cocky.

The boys stood at the edge, heads bent down as they themselves debated whether or not to jump. For a moment, she thought that she would remain unnoticed, that Ben actually believed her for once and that none of the maybe-someday-friends would even miss her as they stared down, down, down towards what waited for them below.

Maybe she could sit this one out? Wait for them to finish swimming while she listened to the boombox Richie had brought along.

Just when she thought that 'Plan B' would be put into action, Bill turned around to behold the mess of nerves known as Kimmy the Absolute Coward.

"Are y-you okay?"

That got everyone's attention. Five pairs of eyes - all different shades of browns and blues - peered at Kimmy as if they were shocked to see her standing there.

"I, um, I -" Panicked, Kimmy frantically scanned the area as if one of the many rocks or leaves would help her get out of the predicament she'd found herself in. That's when she noticed a path that was covered in pebbles and moss-covered sticks. "Is that a path to the bottom?" she asked, pointing at it with what she hopped wasn't a trembling finger.

"Yes."

"Awesome!" she got out before turning and making her way towards it. "I'll meet you guys down there!"

She could hear Richie and Eddie mumbling to each other, shooting things back and forth at lightning speed as she did her best not to look like she didn't like heights. She had only agreed to jump because it was what cool, badass girls did. Which she totally wasn't. She was more of a jumpy, weak girl.

Had she not been so caught up in her thoughts, telling herself to not go too fast or too slow, she would have heard an "oomph, Richie!" come from Stan as the sound of dirt being scraped enunciated his frustration.

A moment later, Kimmy felt the presence of someone inches away from her left shoulder. Turning her head, she was surprised to see Stan walking beside her, his curls lightly bouncing with each step he took.

"Stan, hi," she said, as if this was the first time they had run into each other that day.

"Hi," he answered.

"What are - I thought you were going to jump?"

He simply shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't feel like it."

That was a lie. Kimmy knew that much. Even though the boys were a bit hesitant to jump, they did really want to - and would eventually all do.

Guilt gnawed at her stomach at the thought of being the reason why he wasn't joining in on the fun, that he was going to miss out because he didn't want her to feel bad for being the only one who had wimped out.

"Stan -"

"It's alright. I really didn't want to." He stopped, causing her to jerk to a halt and swivel around so she was facing him. "Unless. . . you don't want me to walk with you?"

She gulped and licked her lips when she noticed how deflated he'd become. Guilt for a whole other reason punched Kimmy in the gut. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him, to make him think that she didn't want his company - although she knew that he'd respect whatever decision she made on the matter.

"No, I do. I really do. I just. . . I don't want you to miss out on anything because of me," she confessed, shifting from one foot to the other.

"I'm not," he promised. "I'm with you."

A pleasant feeling seeped its way across her, making her beam with happiness. "That's super sweet of you to say."

Stan became bashful, cheeks turning a light shade of pink - a tiny hint of a smile gracing his face - as he sheepishly looked at the ground.

With the feeling of being in the way of her everyone's fun gone for the time being, Kimmy playfully bumped Stan's shoulder. The oversized _Back to the Future_ themed T-shirt she wore brushed his skin, bringing his attention back up to a smiling Kimmy.

"You're way too good for me. You know that, right?"

If she thought his bashfulness from before was as much as he could possibly feel, his light sputters as he attempted to say something before shyly shifting his gaze around them was an interesting discovery.

_Wow. I didn't know it was that easy to make him speechless._

Kimmy sent him a lazy grin, taking a couple steps backwards before spinning and continuing onwards. "We should get down there before the others wonder where we're at."

With a brief nod and a puff of air, Stan followed her.

They talked about nothing and everything along the way, enjoying each others company the only way friends who had yet to enter the great big world of adulthood could bring: a sense of familiarity and newness all rolled into one.

* * *

The moment they reached the bottom of the Quarry, Kimmy lightly hit her hip against Stan's before racing towards the water. The curly-haired boy soon followed her, watching her with amusement as she giggled like she didn't have a single care in the world.

They laughed and splashed each other as they swam their way back to where the others were still standing.

It was hard to see the top of the Quarry, seeing as the sun would sting their eyes if they tried to. Judging by the lack of bodies, though, Kimmy knew that they had yet to join them.

"You okay up there?!" Kimmy called up, knees breaking the surface as she paddled backwards.

In response, a pale body leapt off of the edge, kicking their legs, as Richie shouted, "What the _fuck?_!"

Whoever had taken the leap of faith landed with a loud _splash_ , soon emerging with a sharp inhale of breath, cheeks stretched out in a gleeful smile as they brushed their recently cut hair against their head.

" _Beverly_?" Kimmy and Stan said in unison, staring at the freckled redhead in confusion and disbelief.

She sent them both a wink before tilting her head back. "Come on!" she invitingly shouted to the others.

It took them a moment, but one by one the rest of the group plopped down - whooping, laughing with excitement as they swam out to meet the others.

For the longest time, in what could have stretched into forever, the seven of them felt as if they were the only ones who existed. It was just them, the endless sky, and a vast body of water that was brown and clear and warm and cold and heavy and light.

"Let's play chicken!" Richie suggested, his now much smaller eyes slightly squinted as he sent them all a cheeky grin.

"No. No way," Eddie said, shaking his head. "Do you realize how bad of an idea that is? People could get hurt, like, gouging-out-someone's-eye-with-a-fingernail bad."

"Oh, come on, Eds. It'll be fun!"

"Don't call me 'Eds,'" Eddie huffed, glaring at his taller friend. "And if you honestly don't care about your safety, then _you_ can play chicken. _I'm_ going to stay over here so that I can say 'I told you so' when you're even more blind than you already are."

"Suit yourself."

"I'm with Eddie on this one," said Stan, earning a 'see?! I'm not the only one' gesture from their overly-cautious friend.

Richie jokingly pointed a finger of disappointment in their direction, slowly shaking it back and forth. "You two are missing out."

A sly, devilish smile soon made an appearance as he set his eyes on Kimmy.

"M'lady?" he asked, bowing with a large flourish of his hand, his line of sight focused slightly off of Kimmy's right.

With an equally dramatic curtsy, Kimmy responded in a high-pitched voice, "But of course, my liege."

Richie chortled, standing back up to his full height. "Oh, you're a fun one!"

Motioning with her hands for him to bend down again, Kimmy carefully sat atop Richie's shoulders and tucked her knees under his armpits. As the two got into position, Bill and Beverly did the same, grinning as if they already knew they were going to win.

"You two are _so_ going down!" Richie playfully declared.

They didn't.

Kimmy had put up a good fight, but Beverly was much stronger than her. It didn't take long for both her and Richie to fall back into the water.

"Re-match! I demand a re-match!" Richie got out around a round of coughs, shaking Kimmy's shoulder as she attempted to quiet down her fit of laughter.

They lost. Again.

"Wow, you suck at this."

"Right back at you, Tozier."

Another round of chicken now the furthest thing from his mind, Richie sent her a mock glare of annoyance. "That does it, missy!" he announced before slicing his way towards her.

Kimmy screeched in gleeful surprise, zigzagging this way and that in hopes of evading Richie. "You'll never take me alive!" she declared before she tripped, falling forwards with a heavy _splat._

Richie and the others stared at where she'd gone under, worry about whether or not she was okay beginning to cross their minds the longer she remained underneath.

"Kimmy? Can you -"

The glasses-wearing boy shrieked when Kimmy lept out behind him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, chin lightly resting on top of his shoulder.

"Hah!" she chuckled, the rest of the group soon joining in when they noticed that Richie had regained his composure and that the two of them were alright.

"Don't do that!" Richie said, having now turned around in Kimmy's hold.

She was about an inch taller than him, though if you didn't look close enough you would think they were the same height. It wasn't as if it bothered him, not really. He knew that it was highly likely that he'd tower over her when they were older, though they both had about the same level of physical strength.

"Don't do what, Richie? Scare the living shit out of you?" Eddie smugly asked, as if he had been the one to sneak up on his friend instead of Kimmy.

"I thought you cared about me, Eddie," Richie whined, bringing his lips out in a pout.

In response, Eddie rolled his eyes in annoyance. "As if."

And so the afternoon went on. The new group of friends explored the area, stopping every now and again to catch their breath before ultimately getting distracted by something or another for an extended period of time.

At some point, Kimmy had allowed her body to float atop the water. Her fingers and toes were outstretched while her hair - no longer in a scrunchie - bobbed up and down, moving like the thick bodies of snakes who had given up their search for land. Her eyes were closed, the June heat warming her skin, hinting at the sunburn she would have come the following day. But she didn't care. For the time being, it felt nice to feel nothing and everything.

There was a moment where she felt as if someone were watching her.

Lazily shifting her head towards the direction this was coming from, Kimmy slowly opened her eyes - lukewarm liquid rubbing her jawline. Just a little bit away, right near Ben, stood Stan, his sight focused on Eddie and Richie, cheeks a light shade of pink.

Perhaps, in her sleepy state of mind, she had imagined this - that no one had been watching her and that it was all in her head. But she couldn't look away from him. There was something about Stan that stuck out to her. Something that she couldn't quite shake. Something that made her feel like she was missing an important thing.

Blinking again, Kimmy was about to return to her previous activity when Richie gasped, "Ah, fuck! What was that?"

Stan jumped back, gapping as he and Riche scanned the surface of water around them. "Something just touched my foot right there," he said, pointing downwards.

In near perfect sync, both boys dipped under the water, popping back up seconds later. They chatted over each other, trying to get an idea as to what it was and where it could have possibly gone.

Unsure, Kimmy stilled, holding her breath as she stared up at the nearly cloudless sky, the light of the sun blurring tears around her eyes as she refused to blink.

What was in the water? Was it a snapping turtle?

All of the warnings she's been given by her parents each time they went to a lake about how they shouldn't mess with them rushed to the front of her mind - seeing as their strong, beaky mouths could easily munch off a finger or toe.

"Guys," she nervously called out. "Maybe we should -"

That's when Bill burst to the surface, brushing his damp bangs out of his face. "It's a turtle," he replied.

"What kind of turtle?" Kimmy anxiously asked, feeling her body jerk back. When she watched Ben go under himself, she heard hundreds of alarms go off. " _Fuck!"_ she hissed, following him to make sure he didn't come back without a nose.

When her eyes had adjusted the wet world around her, she noticed that every inch of it thick with green. She scanned the area, blinking as she attempted to keep them open in her search for Ben.

Stroking forward, Kimmy turned her head this way and that. Had she been several years younger or in a state of intense panic, she knew that it would be near impossible to tell which way was up and which way was down. It was a rather dizzying being surrounded by an endless expanse of emerald that didn't give her an ounce of direction.

She stopped, spinning herself in circles. Bits of Kimmy's hair began to twirl around her, as if she were an aquatic Medusa. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be suspended in a time that existed outside of time.

How lonely it must be, she thought, to have nothing but your memories to keep you company. To lose yourself in mourning until you no longer knew what it was that made you so sad to begin with.

A splash of brown slowly swam past her. There, moving sluggishly, was a small turtle. One that was far too little to be a snapping turtle. Its scaly feet pumped in and out, in and out, its tail tiny and pointed as straight as a thumbtack. It was rather cute, moving along as if it had far better things to do than to hang around a bunch of kids.

Just when she began to feel the need to take a deep breath, the turtle slowly turned its head. Its black eyes locked onto her hazel ones. Startled by how intelligent it looked, as if it possessed an unimaginably powerful mind, Kimmy gasped - her lungs taking in a mouthful of dirty Quarry water. Afraid that her very being would burst, Kimmy quickly pulled herself upwards.

The moment she broke the surface, she coughed as if it was the only thing she knew how to do.

"Kimmy?" Ben asked with worry as he began to make his way towards his sister.

She waved him off, fist balled in front out her damp mouth. The burning in her chest had finally begun to die down.

"Did you find it? Did you find the turtle?" Eddie asked with great curiosity.

Taking another deep breath, she went back down, drawing a distorted "Guess not," from Richie.

Kimmy searched and searched and searched until she realized that it must have been spooked away by her actions, that perhaps it had reached its limit of excitement for the century. There really wasn't any need for her to look for it again. She knew that it was harmless, that it wouldn't hurt them. So why did she feel the itching need to find it?

It was only when she was ready to give up that she saw something gleaming in the distance: a coppery shell, with what appeared to be countless stars swirling across it, slowly retreating in the distance until it was fully swallowed up by its surroundings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to have another scene, but I thought that this was a nicer way to end the chapter. It also solves the "wow, this chapter is way too short, what can I do to make it longer?" problem I had. 
> 
> I'll hopefully have the next chapter up soon, but knowing me, that probably won't happen (lol, oops). 
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	15. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to the chapters I'm most excited to write! I enjoyed writing this one, especially the ending. Part of me can't wait to reach the second half of this fic, but then the other half knows that I'll be closer to finishing it - which I'm kind of dreading, seeing as I'll basically be done with Kimmy's story. Endings suck, but it's also satisfying to finish something that I've been working on for ages.
> 
> Oh! I'm getting a new tattoo Wednesday night. It's going to be what Eddie has on his cast. I'll post a picture of it on my personal Tumblr once I get out of my appointment. I'm so fucking excited, and also worried about what it'll feel like. It's not my first tattoo, but it's still kind of nerve-wrecking not knowing if it'll be more like 'oh, my god, why?!' or 'eh, it's not that bad.'
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own IT. Stephen King does.

Since the moment he arrived at the Quarry, Stan had been unable to tear his eyes off of Kimmy. (Well, mostly - the tremendous drop that he'd stood on top of was a bit difficult to look away from once he remembered how breakable his bones were.)

At first, while they walked down to the bottom, he felt his skin begin to flame at the ghostly feeling of proximity. Her hair, which he'd always seen in a ponytail, rippled down her back in dark waves. He could smell her shampoo, a faint floral scent that reminded him of spring, each time a few strands gently blew in the wind.

Then he couldn't stop admiring how peaceful she looked as she floated in the middle of the Quarry - every inch of her body relaxed, eyes closed, lips formed in a happy smile. She had looked like an ethereal elf, her brown locks dancing around her head like the thin fingers of a leafless tree.

Eventually, all seven of them gathered around Richie's boombox to dry out, listening to the least boring station Derry had. Even though it did have the tendency to play the same ten songs on repeat for months on end, it did occasionally throw in a long-forgotten hit from years prior. They'd just finished the last of the gooey chocolate chip cookies Kimmy had baked for them - bellies filled with sticky sweetness, the tips of their fingers covered in the remnants of melted chocolate and light brown crumbs.

"Is this what an orgasm feels like? This _has_ to be what an orgasm feels like," Richie had crudely stated, mouth still filled with the dessert.

This of course had earned a narrowed glare from Stan, as well as a protest at how disgusting he was and that he'd 'ruined cookies forever' from Eddie.

Kimmy and Beverly had laid out their towels upon the bumpy ground to sunbathe, the latter of whom had put on a pair of cat eye sunglasses while the other had laid down upon her stomach, the side of her head resting on top of her folded arms.

The boys had found themselves staring, transfixed, at the girls (mostly Beverly, seeing as Kimmy had come dressed in an oversized T-shirt that reached the bottom of her knees). For understandable reasons, Ben was the only one who didn't gawk at Kimmy. (Stan would have felt incredibly uncomfortable if he did.)

Although none of them considered Kimmy unattractive, Beverly was much more developed than her. In fact, if someone who didn't know either of the girls saw them standing side-by-side, they would instantly think that the redhead was older.

Stan was the only one who didn't look away from Kimmy for more than a second, gazing at every inch of her. She looked so different yet very much the same, a not completely accurate reflection of the person he was used to seeing. Her legs were much more toned than they appeared a majority of the time - not quite thin, not quite muscular. Even her shirt, which clung to her curves like saran wrap, hinted that she wasn't as tiny and shapeless as her schoolmates had implied.

He couldn't see her face, but he could see the back of her head. It would richly shimmer like copper every now and again. Stan wondered what her hair felt like, if it was soft or smooth or something entirely different. If it felt anything like it smelled, it had to be amazing. Just like the rest of her.

The boys would have gawked at the girls longer if it weren't for the faint sound of. . . snores? Coming from Kimmy, her back slowly rising and falling with each breath she took.

"Wait. Is she _asleep_?" asked Richie, dumbfounded. "Oh, my god, she is!"

Beverly, not as unaware of her surroundings as they had thought, lazily turned her head in Kimmy's direction. A wide smile spread across her freckled face, finding her ability to sleep seemingly anywhere amusing.

"Just listen to her snore! She sounds like my old man," continued Richie. "How the hell did she manage to feel comfortable on a bunch of rocks?"

"You'd be surprised," interjected Ben, the bandage Eddie had placed over his wound a blinding white, as he smiled fondly at his sister. "This isn't the first time she's slept on rocks."

"I'm sorry, _what the fuck did you just say_?"

Nudging the teen beside her a few times, Beverly was able to wake Kimmy up. Startled, she jerked her head up, a snore caught in her throat. Her hair, still a bit damp, stuck to her face. There was even a trail of drool making its way towards her chin.

"Wha -"

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty!" Richie teased in a booming voice, poorly masking his giggles as she squinted at the group with drowsy confusion. "Piss off any dragon ladies?"

Kimmy sat back on her butt, legs crossed, as she hurriedly fixed her face. Stan watched as she ran her fingers through the hair around her temples, mesmerized by how smoothly it fell behind her ears.

Glancing downwards, Richie managed to catch a glimpse at the contents of Ben's backpack. Reaching into it with greedy curiosity with one hand and bringing up the other to serve as a make-shift microphone, he announced in a tone similar to an old timey disc jockey, "News flash, Ben: school's out for summa!"

"Hey, hands out where they don't belong," chided Kimmy as she made her way towards them, bare feet pounding heavily on the ground, until she stood before the noisy boy.

She snatched the object he had before swiftly putting it back where it belonged, moving the bag closer to Ben, making it painfully clear that he needed to mind his own business.

"Okay, okay. Geez."

"It's not school stuff," said Ben, shifting his things around, cheeks turning a light shade of red as he avoided looking at the boy who'd invaded his privacy.

Still not quite catching on to what the siblings were trying to get through to him, Richie pointed a thin finger at Ben's backpack, his mind set on whatever else had caught his attention. "Then what's in that folder?"

The Hanscoms shared a look, one that held an hour-long conversation in matter of seconds, before they nodded their heads in agreement. While Ben slowly took out what Richie had referred to, Kimmy settled down between him and her brother. She wrapped her arms around knees, pressing them tightly to her chest, shoulder inches away from his best friend.

Stan couldn't help but feel his jealousy return, viciously eating away at him with. Watching how easy the two got along, as if they'd known each other far longer than a few days, made his worry return - a nasty voice telling him that she liked everyone but him, that she was only pretending to be his friend because she pitied him.

He knew that Richie wouldn't do anything, that he wouldn't pursue Kimmy. He might have been a troublemaker, getting himself into situations that sometimes got him socked in the mouth, but he was also Stan's best friend. As in knew-each-other-since-they-were-in-diapers best friends. Not when he made it painfully clear to Stan whenever they were alone that he was keenly aware of his feelings for Kimmy.

" _I know you wanna kiss her_ ," Richie had said to him the other day, waggling his nearly-black brows up and down in a suggestive manner.

Stan, of course, had been rather flustered. While his stomach twisted into excitedly nervous knots, he'd sent him the stop-talking glare he had mastered over their many years of friendship. " _Richie_ , _I swear to_ -"

" _Come on, Stan the Man. Live a little._ "

"You're _the one who told me I'm not her type."_

" _I was joking. . . sort of._ "

Opening the dark green folder, fingers pinching its corners, Richie peered at the top photos with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. "What's with the history project?" he asked.

They were a couple copies of front-page newspaper articles, dated decades before any of them were born. One was of a factory explosion that happened during an Easter egg hunt, which had resulted in the death of 102 Derry residents. Stan had learned about this back in sixth grade (it had been his history teacher's funny way of giving them 'something to think about' while on spring break). The other was about some murderous robbers who'd been shot repeatedly by the police, an event that he had never heard about despite the headline "MASSACRED IN BROAD DAYLIGHT" being written in bold, black letters.

"Oh," said Ben, brown gaze slightly larger than normal, having not expected to be asked more about his research. He shifted further back in his seat as Richie stretched out his arm to pass to an awaiting Bill the folder, whose pointed blue eyes had silently demanded that he be the one to look at it next. "When Kimmy and I first moved here, I didn't have anyone to hang out with, so I just started spending time in the library."

"You went to the library? On purpose?"

"Oh, I want to see," Beverly said with excitement, walking towards the others with a little pep to her steps.

She happily sat next to Bill, knees angled towards him. Her hair, Stan had noticed not that long ago, had recently been cut. It looked uneven, but somehow cool and eddy at the same time. Stan could never do something like that. He'd over think things, like how he was not qualified in the slightest to cut his own curls, that his barber (whose dominant hand had recently begun to shake) was the one who knew what he was doing. Either way, the do-it-yourself look worked surprisingly well for her.

"It's not as bad as you think it is, Richie," piped up Kimmy, glossy gaze drooping as if she were close to falling asleep again. "It helps you focus on things."

"Wow, that doesn't sound boring at all."

While Kimmy rolled her eyes, Stan asked, "What's the Black Spot?" hoping to move things along.

It was an article he had briefly noticed before Bill got ahold of the folder. A charred brick building had started back at him, as if begging him to feel its anguish and loss. He'd never heard of it, even though it had to have existed in Derry at some point.

"The Black Spot was a nightclub that was burnt down years ago by that racist cult," explained Eddie, his voice soft.

Searching the deepest parts of his mind and coming up empty, Stan asked, "The what?"

"Don't you watch _Geraldo_?" Eddie questioned with disbelief.

How could Stan not know, Eddie wondered, about this particular tragedy that happened back in the 60's? It was almost like he wasn't aware of the infamous past that Derry had. Then again, the present wasn't very good, either. The Hanlons hardly came into town due to how many racist residents there were, and then there were those who didn't like the Jewish community - a community that Stan was a part of.

It was then that Eddie realized he didn't know much else about Derry's history, not as much as he knew he should. Why was that? His mom always told him about how dangerous the world was. He even made sure he was always prepared for illness and injury. Eddie always carried fanny packs filled with his prescriptions, his inhaler if he ever had an asthma attack, and wipes to clean his hands if he for some out of character reason touched a particularly disgusting thing.

"I didn't know much about it, either, until Ben found it a few months back," said Kimmy, smiling reassuringly at Stan. "It's crazy what you can find once you do some digging."

Eddie and Richie noticed that Stan fingers kept repeatedly intertwining, as if he had caught a firefly but didn't know how to hold it. Seeing how their most grown-up friend melted under each word Kimmy directed at him, the over-cautious boy shared a knowing look with the glasses wearing teen who was the most adamant about Stan confessing his feelings. The poor guy had it bad, looking at her longingly from afar and turning into a giddy (well, giddy for Stan) mess whenever she so much as glanced his way.

Behind his thick lensed glasses, Richie's giant eyes sent Eddie the Look, widely expectant and asking for permission to take it a step further. He hardly ever listened to anyone, always going with his gut and speaking his mind, despite how unwanted it might be. But with this particular situation, he had dialed it down a little, valuing his friendship with Stan enough not to cross a line that couldn't be uncrossed. Eddie might have had something to do with this, making sure that he made his opinions on the matter clear if Richie ever asked - wordlessly or not - if he should keep going or stop.

Shaking his head, Eddie mouthed, " _No_."

Richie mouthed back an exasperated, " _Why not?!_ "

The four of them had been so preoccupied with what was going on between them that they didn't notice the conversation happening between the other three, one that was heavy with pinning, unspoken desire, and the awkwardness of teenage affection.

"Your hair. . . ." began Bill, trailing off as he struggled to finish the sentence.

At the sound of his voice, Beverly perked up, a hopeful look shining in her eyes as she patiently waited for Bill to finish what he wanted to say.

"Your hair is beautiful, Beverly," finished Ben, smiling as if he'd correctly answered a Daily Double.

While Bill tensed, fists clenching and unclenching in aggravation, Beverly's face fell in disappointment - the flame that had begun to spark to life within her weakening until it was hardly noticeable.

"Oh," she said, brushing some loose locks away from her cheek. "Right. Thanks."

The air had become thick with uneasiness, the weight of it rudely pressing down on them. It was the first time that day where things felt as if they had derailed horribly. For a moment, it seemed like none of them would be able to lug it back on track.

Stan should have known better.

Richie was an expert of bringing life back into a conversation, be it through a poorly timed joke or a topic of discussion that was distracting enough to help them forget why they'd stopped talking to begin with.

"Why is it all murders and missing kids?" Richie asked, having gotten his hands back on the folder stuffed with Ben's research.

_What?_

Leaning in, sight now pinned to the articles that had been referred to, Stan felt himself give into his morbid curiosity.

How come all of these horribly tragic things were treated as if none of them had even happened? That it was all a dream, fading more and more with each passing day until it was nothing more than a long-forgotten nightmare?

None of it made sense.

Surely the adults would mention this in passing from time to time, that the police would give them occasional reminders to be careful around this or that - lest they find themselves repeating a tragedy that shouldn't have happened to begin with.

A different kind of heaviness filled the air. Things felt dire. It had sucked out any and all sound, aside from their beating hearts, as they listened to Ben explain, "Derry's not like any town I've ever been in before. They did a study once, and it turns out people die or disappear six times the national average."

"You read that?" Beverly asked quietly, as if afraid that someone dangerous was listening in on their conversation - ready to pounce, to angrily berate them for talking about things they didn't understand.

From the corner of his eye, Stan watched Kimmy as she blankly stared at the ground, a thousand and one thoughts - ranging from sorrowful to angrily questioning the grand scheme of things - flash within the depths of her eyes.

_Zelda._

She'd probably helped Ben look for the study he'd referred to. He couldn't imagine what had crossed her mind the moment they found it, looking at a fact that made Zelda's disappearance even more frightening.

Reaching out, Stan slowly placed his thumb on top of her inner forearm, his remaining fingers resting lightly on the side of her arm. He gently yet firmly pressed them into her warm skin before rubbing small, calming circles across it.

This wasn't the first time he'd done this.

There'd been times where Kimmy had come to their weekend hangout distressed, usually relating to family and/or school drama. One of the many things he'd learned about her during their almost year-long friendship was that she was a remarkably sensitive person. What may seem minor to some could very well be a big deal to her if her heart was in it - be it a cruel comment sent her way or feeling as if she'd been given a lack of space when she wanted to take a breather.

He honestly didn't know why he had started doing it. All he knew was that a force had tugged at him to reach out to her, to make sure that she didn't get lost in her head. It had been shocking at first, surprise passing between them like a tingle of electricity. Aside from that, Kimmy had responded to this gesture positively, always sending him a smile of gratitude.

This time was no different.

As this action had a tendency to do, the tension in her body began to deflate, the invisible pressure lifting itself off of her and fading into nothingness.

"And that's just grown-ups," Ben continued, his words pulling the others closer to him as if he'd thrown a lasso around their waists. "Kids are worse. _Way_ , way worse."

This. . . wasn't the first time a scary amount of kids went missing? There had been other times? Why hadn't he heard about this until now? The town couldn't forget something as major as this. There was no way that would happen. Not in a million years. And yet, why did he feel like it was exactly what it sounded like?

As if it would lighten the mood, Ben added in a more chipper tone, "I've got more stuff if you wanna see it."

That didn't sound great, all things considered. If Ben had more research, then that could only mean one thing: this was the heftiest news any of them had ever heard.

Eddie was the one who was able to properly express how Stan felt about the whole situation, shaking his head rapidly as his eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Great," Richie said, handing the folder back to Ben. "What else do you got?" he asked, dramatically flicking his gaze towards Ben's backpack.

"It's at our aunt's place," Kimmy lowly replied, as if it were an unreachable destination.

"But she might be okay if you come over," clumsily tagged on Ben, earning an are-you-for-real look from his sibling. "As long as we don't make a lot of noise and stay in our room, we should be okay."

" _Benny_ ," she warned, sending him a sharp stare. But when he sent her a pleading look, one that made him look like her was seven instead of thirteen, the lines that had made an appearance on her face began to soften. A weary sigh left her. "Fine," she mumbled, almost inaudible. "Let's go."

And with that, the teens began to dress, the wheels of their bikes soon producing a cloud of dust as they left the Quarry behind.

* * *

When they arrived at their next destination, Ben's eyes widened in realization before dashing inside the house.

As Kimmy had expected, they weren't alone.

"Ben? Kimmy? Is that you?" called out her mom from the living room.

Kimmy took a few steps forward until she stood before the doorway, hesitatingly peeking into the spotless room. Her mother was in the middle of getting up from the couch, her current needle-work progress (one that had the moon and some yellow stars as the main focus point) resting off to the side.

Her mother looked beautiful today, Kimmy noted. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a bun while her best casual dress neatly rested just above her ankles. It was a deep maroon color with shiny black buttons, with fabric that looked flawlessly weightless.

When Kimmy was a little girl, she was convinced that her mom was a secret prima ballerina, with her long and elegant limbs that had a tendency to move gracefully with each step she took. Her eyes were the same shade as Ben's - a deep, kind brown that made you feel safe. Too bad Kimmy hadn't felt that way since they moved here.

"Hi, Mom," Kimmy said, weakly waving. "Is, uh, Aunt Jean?

"No. She's at the market." That's when Mom noticed the group of restless teens standing behind her daughter. "Are these your friends?"

She peered behind her shoulder, gaze crossing over each face inches away from her. "Um, yeah. Yeah, they are. Is it alright if they come up to our room for a bit?" When a look of uncertainty crossed her mother's features, Kimmy added, "I promise that they won't be here long."

Though it didn't appear to quite reassure her, it was enough for her to eventually say, "As long as they're not here for more than an hour."

Jerking her head towards the stairs to get the others to follow, Kimmy hurriedly called out, "Thanks, Mom!"

Upon entering their room, she noticed Ben "casually" leaning against their closest door, chest puffed out as if he were trying to impress a herd of pretentious know-it-alls. Shifting her gaze towards her bed, she noticed that some of the clothes she had laying out were missing, as was the folded Michael J. Fox poster Ben had found in a teen magazine and some other articles of dirty clothing he hadn't had the chance to put into a hamper.

 _So that's what got his panties in a twist_.

Kimmy could have cared less if their room was a mess, which was mostly a product of the lack of friends they invited over. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember the last time they had company. Frequently moving around had the tendency to prevent them from making any lasting friendships.

Richie and Eddie's rapid chatter about god knows what began to quiet down as they slowly entered the bedroom, peering at the walls with disbelief.

Aside from the walls closest to Kimmy's bed, every inch of the room was covered in Ben's research. Newspaper articles circled in red, maps throughout the decades that had strings of yarn placed over them, notecards that held messily written questions, drawings of some of Derry's most historical events. There were even some of the missing kids' posters that had popped up throughout the year.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Richie choked out, stepping further into the room. " _Wow._ "

Taking his response as purely keen interest, Ben said, "Cool, huh?"

"No. Nothing 'cool," said Richie, causing Ben's face to fall in disappointment. That's when he noticed Kimmy's side of the room. "This is cool, though."

He had spotted her mess of decorations that had been put up with careful precision and thought. Posters from various artists (Queen, Wham, David Bowie, Prince), the faded _The Lonely Trail_ poster her dad had gotten her for Christmas a couple years prior, charcoal sketches of her favorite American destinations, and crisp polaroid pictures that spanned back to the early 80's.

Having plopped down on her poorly made bed, where she casually leaned back against the headboard, Kimmy said, "Thanks, but keep looking."

Making a show of doing what the older girl told him, Richie turned his attention to the closest collection of findings. "Well, this is cool, right here," he said, referring to a sketch of the town's oldest neighborhoods. "No, it's not cool."

A gasp of shock came from him as a pillow hit his stomach, sending his hands up a second too late to serve as a force of protection.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he protested, sloppily tossing the pillow back at her. "I looked, I looked!"

A brief chuckle came from Stan, who stood before a collection of letters that were sticky tacked to the walls.

" _Whose side are you on, Stanley_?" questioned Richie, readjusting his glasses.

"At the moment," - answered Stan, glancing Kimmy's way - "hers."

Kimmy felt like a cat who'd finally managed to catch a pesky canary. "Ha!"

"No fair! I've known you longer," Riche whined.

"Exactly," was Stan's cheeky response.

With an intense glare, Richie said in exasperation, "Unbelievable."

Sight now focused on what he'd been looking at before the exchange, Stan peered at what had stuck out to him with a raised brow. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at a collection of pages that looked like a contract.

Bouncing off of her shitty mattress, the springs loudly _squeaking_ , Kimmy made her way over to Stan. "The charter for Derry Township," she answered, coming to a stop by his left shoulder. "Derry was a beaver trapping camp before it officially became a town."

"Still is, am I right, boys?" interrupted Richie with an I'm-totally-witty grin, hand proudly held up for a high-five.

The response he got from the others was the complete opposite of what he had been expecting.

While most of the group looked at him with disgust, Eddie's mouth had opened wide, gapping at the ever so wonderfully made remark. Stan shook his head in warning, making it clear that there was no way in hell no one would agree with him.

"Anyway," said Kimmy, bringing the conversation back on track. "Ninety-one people signed it, which is how Derry came about. But. . . ."

This was always the part that freaked her out, the one that made her skin crawl until it was made of pins and needles. She remembered how she'd hoped Ben had read it wrong, that her mind wanted to give her a good scare. It was too much like a spooky story that someone had made up in order to get troublesome little kids in-line.

"But what?" Eddie shakily asked, as if he could feel the uncertainty she felt.

"Well," began Ben, noticing how unnerved his sister looked, which he couldn't fault her for. Everything about the creation of this town was too awful to be real, a twisted fairy tale. "Later that winter, they all disappeared without a trace."

"The _entire_ camp?"

"There were rumors of Native Americans, but no sign of an attack. Everybody thought it was just a plague or something. But it's like one day everybody woke up and left. The only clue was a trail of bloody clothes leading to the well house."

"Jesus," Richie breathed out, anxiously rubbing his temples. "We can get Derry on _Unsolved Mysteries_."

"You're telling me," agreed Kimmy, pulling and pulling and pulling the bottom of her T-shirt, still wet from their time at the Quarry. Some of the water faintly stuck to her palms, cooling and warming them in a bizarre harmony.

"Let's do that. You're brilliant," Eddie remarked, acting as if this was the best idea in the existence of ever.

Nodding his head, all business, Richie said in a serious tone, "I might be."

This only sent the teens into a frenzy as they discussed the possibility of this happening - which, to them, seemed highly likely, if the research Ben had compiled was anything to go by.

("We need to send this in ASAP.")

("No way. We need to gather more evidence first.")

("Like what? The bloody clothes he was talking about?")

("There's no way we can get our hands on those. They're long gone by now.")

Their animated chatter was interrupted by Bill's still, quiet voice, "Where was the well house?"

"I don't know," admitted Ben, shrugging his shoulders in uncertainty. "Somewhere in town, I guess. Why?"

As Bill stared up at the muddled of paper, the gears in his head beginning to spin into overtime, Kimmy had a feeling that he might have begun to figure something important out, something could lead to a lot of unanswered questions that they needed to unearth.

"Nothing," he said, not sounding the least bit convincing.

Whatever it was that Bill had begun to piece together, Kimmy wished for him to solve it soon. Not just for their sake, but for the missing kids' - for Zelda's - sake, too.

Perhaps, she realized, he would be the one who got them a step closer to finding out what happened to those they had lost the past year.

After all, he was the leader, and leaders were supposed to know what they were doing.

She just hoped that she wasn't putting her faith in the wrong person.

* * *

As promised, they began to disperse not long after arriving. They all sluggishly made their way outdoors, the heat of the sun seeped deep into the marrow of their bones, the day's events finally beginning to catch up with them.

The siblings had led them back to the collection of bikes. Only one of them stood, leaning into its kickstand, while the others were piled into a heap of colorful metal. Kicking it back into place, Stan straddled his bike while the rest of his friends picked up their bikes.

"Today was fun," offered Beverly.

"If you consider murder mysteries 'fun,' then it definitely was," snarked Richie.

"Beep, beep, Richie," Bill said.

"I'm just saying. The last thing I expected was to find out that a lot of sketchy shit has happened here."

"He's not wrong," Stan agreed, gripping his handles, the skin over his knuckles stretching each time he clasped them. "Most of us have lived here our entire lives, but this is the first time I've heard about a lot of this."

That didn't make any sense to Kimmy. She really hadn't given this fact much thought until Stan brought it up. It was incredibly strange that none of them had more than an inkling about the darker history of their hometown. Wouldn't they have at least heard the names of these events, if not some of the details? Stan and Eddie were the only ones who knew bits and pieces about certain events, but even that was surprisingly slim.

Perhaps Derry was tired of facing more tragedies that never seemed to cease, choosing to instead pretend like nothing ever happened. That any and all things that deviated too far from the norm were not worth further investigating.

Then again, Ben was right about one thing: Derry stood out among all of the other places they lived, and not in a good way.

There had been adults in the past who could care less about them, but that hadn't been every single person they ran into. Deep within the pit of her gut (be it in Houston or anywhere else), when Henry and his goons beat the living shit out of her and Ben, Kimmy knew that someone would have stopped to make sure they were okay.

And then there was the feeling that she was always being watched, that a pair of eyes hungrily burned her flesh. If she ever gave notice to this, her chest would feel heavy. It felt like an animal was viciously digging itself next to her heart. She would peek over her shoulder in a panic only to find that she was alone, that it had most-likely been a figment of her imagination.

The teens shared uneasy looks, their breaths shallow.

What could possibly be the reason behind all of this? And, if there was a way to stop all of this, how come it was still happening?

Bill, ever the head-strong leader, was the one who succeeded in pulling them out of their thoughts. "We s-should get going." No one argued, nor did they protest when he added, "We'll meet back here tomorrow. Around ten."

With a final nod of agreement, the group began to disperse, biking away in different directions, calling out their good-byes.

Before the last to leave could get too far away, Kimmy said slightly louder than normal, "Stan!"

Stopping his bike, fists pressed against the breaks as he used his feet to help, turned his head until they were able to lock eyes, brows drawn together in confusion.

The tip of Kimmy's foot drew small circles in the ground, some of the grass sticking to her sneaker. "I, uh, just wanted to say thanks. For everything you've done for me today."

Blinking, as if trying to peer at a glowing green light across a vast lake, that tiny smile of his - one she had gotten the chance to know so well over the past several months - appeared.

She really did like his smiles. They weren't too noticeable, as if they didn't want to draw in any unwanted attention. Shy, even. It was his eyes, though, that shone the most. Tender, twinkling with emotion that he wasn't able to verbally express. Kimmy especially liked his smiles when she was the reason behind them.

Stan was an old soul, so careful and uncertain about a great many things. But his sense of humor, one that was dry and full of sass, never failed to amuse her. Some of the supposed jokes he occasionally told weren't even that funny. His airy giggles - as if he found it the punchline side-splittingly hilarious - were always the push she needed to join him, sending them into a fit that took what felt like ages to come out of.

"No problem," Stan said, shaking Kimmy from her pondering.

Crossing her arms across her chest, balling her palms as if they had shirt sleeves pulled roughly around them, she sent him another smile of appreciation. "See you tomorrow, Stan."

Another moment passed on by before Stan, as if waiting for her to add on to the statement, nodded his head in confirmation and returned to what he'd been in the middle of doing before she had stopped him.

It was then that the feeling from the Quarry returned, relentlessly gnawing at her.

As she watched him turn the corner, gliding away until she could no longer see him, this very thought gradually disappeared until it was the furthest thing from her mind. It returned days later, not once, but twice. Once in a moment of comfort. Another in a time of great fear, one that drew the friends even further into the most dangerous forgotten secret of Derry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters are going to focus on the other Losers' first encounter with Pennywise, so we won't be seeing Kimmy for a bit. Buttttt, we get a little Reddie moment in the next chapter, which I'm in the middle of writing.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


	16. Eddie Kaspbrak and Beverly Marsh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. You'd think I would have written more chapters, considering I don't have much else to do. I hope all of you are staying healthy and safe right now. Make sure to listen to what your body and mind needs. Drink plenty of water, take a walk, and call someone you love. I don't want to make this a "don't do this" and "scary news" A/N, so let's move on.
> 
> Here's some happy news: Home Depot is selling cherry blossom trees, Onward is on Disney+, and a couple of pandas who live at a Chinese theme park mated recently! Just a few things that made me smile as of late :)
> 
> Now, on to the new chapter.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Depression, suicide, gore, implied homophobia, as well as implied physical and emotional abuse.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own IT. Stephen King does.

Technically, Eddie wasn't allowed to have a bike. And yet, he did. It was something he made sure his mother never found out about. He knew that the world was a dirty, dangerous place. That the only thing standing between him and his demise could very well be an unassuming germ. But he loved the freedom his bike gave him, how it felt like he was flying whenever he allowed gravity to pull him down a hill. It was one of the very few things that he was willing to take the chance on, scrapes and all.

"You're lucky you're my friend," Richie joked as they put their bikes away in his family's garage, both carefully leaning them against the stained, wooden wall.

"Meaning?" Eddie asked, narrowing his eyes as he awaited whatever horrible punchline he had in-store.

"I would run it over with a lawnmower if you weren't."

"That's not how lawnmowers work!" Eddie said, quick to call out Richie's stupidity. "My bike would _totally_ ruin your lawnmower. Not to mention how hard your dad would ground your ass, which is the last thing you want, considering that I wouldn't be able to see you for the rest of the summer, and - Why are you looking at me like that?"

Richie wore a dopey grin, laughter sparkling in his enlarged gaze. It was as if this was the most entertaining conversation he'd had all year.

When Richie registered that the smaller boy had stopped mid-conversation, brakes having come to a screeching halt, his thick brows raised towards his hairline. "Like what?"

"Like I'm rambling about something that doesn't matter."

"That's because it doesn't, dude."

"We're talking about something serious here!" Eddie burst out, rapidly slapping the back of one hand in the palm of the other. "Like, life and death _serious_ , and you have the nerve to -"

With a loud _crash,_ the sound of metal ringing in the late afternoon air, Eddie shrieked in shock, jumping back into the wall. The bikes fell at the abrupt contact, falling into the jittery boy's legs, drawing out another shriek as he tripped over his flailing limbs - straight into Richie.

The boys gasped as they roughly made contact, tumbling clumsily to the ground as they struggled in vain to remain upright. Richie hit the dusty concrete with a heavy " _umph!_ ," his ass roughly breaking his fall. Eddie, on the other hand, had instinctively balled his fists around the taller boy's shirt, the fabric clasped tightly in his hold.

In his moment of confusion and making sure he didn't break anything important; he did not realize how close his face was to Richie's chest, that his nose was scrunched against it. Nor did he notice that his knees were near his hips. It was then that the scent of dried sweat and the exhilarating sweetness of sunshine embraced his senses.

His heart skipped a beat, one he would later claim to be rooted in embarrassment, lungs taking in a large gulping of air as the two jolted away from each other. To Eddie, it had felt as if he'd stuck the tips of his fingers into a socket of electricity.

They scrambled back to their feet, brushing invisible dirt from their shirts. Eddie attempted to think of something to say, _anything_ , to direct their attention away from what had happened.

It was just a moment of clumsiness, one that could happen if there was too much in too little of a space.

_Yeah._

That _had_ to be it.

"Jesus, what the fuck -" Richie breathed out, cheeks tinged with a hint of red, as his gaze began to scan the area. A laugh of relief left him, a shaky smile spreading across his face. "It's just a trash can."

Sure enough, Eddie noticed silver shining in the setting sun. It rolled gently back and forth; bits of trash having spilt from it.

The wind had to have knocked it over. What other explanation was there? It was still too early for rodents to make an appearance, and they hadn't heard a yip from a dog or a yowl from a cat.

"That's one hullava wind," added Richie, readjusting his crooked glasses.

Eddie coughed, his throat dry, before swallowing what little spit he had in his mouth. "Yeah. . . , the wind."

Silence lingered around them, hotter than the day's weather. It was thick with something that made Eddie feel like he was standing at the edge of the universe - peering down at a swirling, endless darkness that pulled at the center of his core.

There was one thing Eddie knew that him and Richie had in common: they both wouldn't shut up. Richie: because he would burst at the seams if he didn't spill what was on his mind. Eddie: because once he got lost in a rant he wouldn't stop until his rapid spitfire of words trailed off into the abyss.

Silence was never their thing, though Eddie refused to acknowledge this - lest he get a giant smirk from the trashmouth in question.

"It's crazy, isn't it?" Richie asked, sucking in the world around him. "All of that stuff Ben and Kimmy talked about?"

Eddie blinked once, twice. It felt as if a speck of dust was caught in the corner of his eye. "I can't believe that none of you knew about the Black Spot. Anyone who pays attention in history class or social studies would know about that, but _you_ always fall asleep because you think it's boring, and -"

"That's all you knew about, Eds."

"I told you: don't call me -"

The irritation Eddie felt towards this particularly annoying nickname greatly deflated, leaving him light-headed. Another reminder about all the stuff he should have known about coming back to the forefront of his mind. A shudder brushed itself coldly across his spine, goosebumps rising on his skin.

Releasing a puff of air, as if he hadn't had a moment, Eddie started marching away from the Tozier residence. "See you later."

Picking up his pace, Eddie nearly jogged down the driveway, leaving behind a disgruntled Richie who called out, "Yeah, no problem! I'll pick these bikes up by myself!"

He kept going, the pooling heat caused by the past few minutes churning in the middle of his stomach, leaving his friend to clean up the mess they had unintentionally made.

* * *

_Nobody knows the trouble I've seen,_

_Nobody knows my sorrow._

* * *

It was a habit of Eddie's to play with the flute of his hands the "Star Spangled Banner" whenever he took the shortcut from Richie's to his house. And who could blame him?

Neibolt street never felt quite right. It was unsettling, the fears of your early childhood creeping up on you like an ominous fog. There was something rotten on this street, one that only the bravest of Derry inhabited. In fact, there were more houses than people there. Only a handful of known individuals lived in one of the poorly taken care of homes. No matter what was done to repair all that was falling, the homes would continue to rot to the point where money was wasted.

Because of this, he avoided it as often as he could.

But he knew that if he took the long way today, he'd be late. His mom would fuss over him to the point where he might not even be allowed to leave the house the following day.

" _Eddie! I told you to be careful! You know how badly you bruise."_

_"You shouldn't play in the Quarry. Who knows what disgustingly vile things lurk in that water."_

_"Oh, Eddie Bear. Promise you won't ever leave me. Never ever."_

A shiver rippled its way across his body.

He loved her, he supposed. She was his mom, and sons were supposed to love the women who raised them. That was how things were supposed to work. Besides, she was only acting out on her motherly instincts, holding him a little too tight and a little too close.

If there was anyone who cared about Eddie's health as much as he did, it was her. Based on that alone, she had to be a good mom. Moms looked out for their children, made sure they didn't get hurt or sick. And she most certainly checked off all those boxes - repeatedly, boisterously.

It was then, as he walked beside a withering chain link fence that held in a field of weeds and long-forgotten cars, that the very thing that made Eddie avoid Neibolt Street loomed over him. The notes of his song trailed off, slowly dying off, as he worriedly eyed the decaying two-story home that radiated ill-intention. Taking up space, attempting to reach out a knobby hand to clutch all who passed it by.

The house was a thing of nightmares, plucked wickedly from a decaying wasteland. A _Scooby Doo_ episode gone horrendously wrong.

Even the town council knew it was best to avoid it, putting up signs that forbade anyone who wasn't authorized from trespassing. It had collected rust over the years, the words no longer vibrant. Not that it worked well to begin with.

Some of the older high schoolers would occasionally go there to party - to drink, smoke, and do drugs. The only ones who were brave enough to sleep in it were members of the homeless community.

Regardless, everyone who had common sense knew that someone had to be desperate enough to even think of setting foot inside of that decrepit, god-forsaken place.

Peering worriedly at the source of his nerves, Eddie thought for a fleeting moment: " _It's just a house. An ugly, old house."_

Alarming _beeps_ followed his thoughts, drawing his attention towards his fanny pack.

Time for his pills.

The tens of thousands of pills he needed to take to stay healthy.

To remain strong and go on in life without so much as a sniffle.

There were a lot of things wrong with Eddie's health.

For starters, he had asthma.

And a long list of many other things that his mom and doctors told him he had.

" _You're weak without them, Eddie. That's why you must take them every time your alarm goes off. You'll only make yourself even sicker if you don't. You know I love you, don't you? That's why I tell you these things, to make sure you get better."_

But the tug of what lurked deep within the house on Neibolt Street was far stronger than any man or beast. Eddie could feel his breath begin to hitch, the back of his neck beginning to prickle with warning. What little courage he might have possessed seconds ago was long gone.

Digging through his fanny pack, he wrapped his hand around the pill holder he kept on his person at all waking hours of the day.

A _creak_ , anguishly ancient, weaved its way towards the small teen's ears. He might have been able to pretend he hadn't heard this, but raspy, heavy breaths drew him away from the white and green pill he had pinched between his fingers.

" _Edddiiee_ ," a voice hoarsely purred. " _What are you looking for_?"

Forgetting his pills, he began swiftly moving forwards, his mind set on getting away from that house as quickly as possible. His hands trembled badly enough for him to fumble his pill container, his initial intent to put his medicine back where it belonged flying out the window when it fell to the ground. Its contents spilled and twirled in a million directions upon hitting the leaf covered street.

" _Oh!_ " he breathed.

Bending down, Eddie began to hurriedly gather what he'd dropped, shaking to the point where it took more than a few tries to gather the colorful pills.

_Two._

_Four._

_Six._

" _My mom's gonna fucking flip._ "

An image of an army of bacteria latching themselves to his medicine flashed before him. Of his mother wailing in grief as he died in a hospital bed. All because he hadn't taken his contaminated pills. That was far worse than the possibility of his system digesting the debris left by tires and the cells of countless roadkill.

_Eight._

_Ten -_

Blue-black fingertips pinched the red pill he had almost picked up. Too afraid to look away, too afraid to breath, Eddie's gaze followed the hand they were attached to as it was lifted weakly into the air.

_Boils._

_Disease._

_Decay._

"Do you think this will me, Eddie?" gurgled the man who he'd locked eyes with.

_Oh, god. His eyes._

Staring back at the hypochondriac, oozing puss and a sour stench, was a leaper. Every bit of him how he imagined one would look: sunken face, sagging skin, hollowed eyes, an 'X' where his nose should have been. Bandages were wrapped desperately around him, as if they were what kept what remained of his body from falling off. Drool sloppily spilled from his swollen lips, his torso falling inwards, the action pushing out a low growl.

_Nonononono._

Whimpering, the terrified boy crawled back, sight never leaving the man as he got back on his feet. The leaper took one heavy step after the other, steering Eddie in the direction of the house.

He had to get away. He needed to run. He couldn't let him infect him. His mom would send him away. His friends wouldn't let him be near them. He'd be alone, watching as his body fell piece by agonizing piece until there was nothing left. Empty, separate, shunned by a society that would fear his very existence. Left to live out the rest of his existence in a dark, unfeeling world.

With the icy feeling of claws swiping at his backpack, Eddie dashed onto a strip of land he thought he'd never have the guts to set foot out. Hoarse screams followed him, striking fear into his veins. Pulsing, shrieking, thumping, drumming: _flee, flee, flee._

"Help!" he cried out, never slowing. "Help!"

A third plea died the moment he tripped over his feet, tumbling to the ground. A sting shot through his back as he rolled, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The momentum, and the nearness of the leaper, hurriedly helped him regain his footing.

There was a gap in the fence, big enough to allow him escape. If he could make it, he could crawl away. He could leave the leaper behind. He would be safe.

A roar of furry ragged from somewhere deep within the leaper as Eddie frantically parted the sharp, unruly bushes that blocked his means of escape.

"Help! Help!"

That's when he heard the playful giggle of a grown man, a sound so menacing and child-like that it cemented Eddie where he stood. Near the back of the house was an upside-down pyramid of glossy, red balloons - their stings gripped within a gloved fist. They floated up, shifting sluggishly in the air, until it revealed not the face of a leaper but that of a clown.

The clown looked like the gatekeeper of the house, with cracked white paint, messy orange hair, and unnaturally big lips. A smile, with buckteeth that slanted slightly off to the side, sprung to life. It would have looked innocent enough had it not been for the searing hunger blazing in the man's hawkish, yellow gaze. One that was set fast on a bemused Eddie.

"Where you going, girly boy?" the clown asked, using a name the bullies at his school liked to use far too often.

_"Look at girly boy, with his pretty face!"_

_"What's wrong? Did that mean Henry ruin your pink shirt, girly boy?"_

_"You gonna cry, huh? You dumb girly boy."_

He hated that name. More than anything he'd ever been called, be it in good fun or in ill will.

Yes, he was fragile, being one of the smallest and thinnest boys in his class. And, yes, he was a worrywart, fretting over the possibility of the harm that the tiniest of cuts could do. These were the things he tried not to give too much thought to. But when that name came up, the one that made him feel ashamed of who he was, Eddie wanted to scream or throw up or lash out or all the above.

"If you lived here, you'd be home by now. Come join the clown, girly boy," he beckoned. "You'll float down here. We all float down here. Yes, we do!"

That laugh, that unnerving laugh, bellowed out of the clown. Eddie could hear an endless number of frantic sirens ringing in his mind.

 _Out,_ they warned. _Out, out, out!_

Screaming, Eddie scurried further into the brush, twigs roughly scraping his exposed skin as he shoved his way past them. _Pops_ boomed behind Eddie, another shriek leaving him as he jolted his head back towards where the clown stood. Remnants of the red balloons heavily fell to the ground, the clown no longer in sight.

_Where the fuck did he go?!_

Confused, and with a wave of relief washing over him, Eddie managed to crawl through the hole he'd been searching for. He didn't stop running until he made it to his street, his chest puffing in and out as if he were an overworked steam engine.

As he shivered from the very thought of what could have come to pass, Eddie vowed to never return to Neibolt Street. No matter what. Not even if his friends begged him to until their faces turned blue.

Unluckily for him, Neibolt Street was far from done with Eddie Kaspbrak.

The ghost that would haunt the Losers Club for nearly thirty years had only just begun to sink its teeth in, and it did not plan on ever letting go.

* * *

Beverly vaguely remembered her mother. She remembered that she had the same fiery red hair as her, that they shared the same blue-green eyes that looked like the ocean on a clear day. She remembered that she almost-always had scratches on her arms and blood caked beneath her fingernails. She remembered that her smiles felt empty, that she frantically hummed "Good Vibrations" under her breath whenever she looked troubled.

Elfirda Marsh was never fully there, stuck in the middle of something intense and inescapable. Her doctors said that she had depression, starting the moment Beverly had been born.

Once upon a time, her mother had been a goof ball - playing friendly pranks on loved ones, blasting the Beach Boys at full volume on her well-loved record player, purposely dancing off-beat in public.

Her mother had been a spitfire, Beverly had once heard, never letting people get away with their attempts to pull the wool over her eyes. Fierce as a raging storm, as loving as any doting wife could be, and unimaginably beautiful in every way possible. That was the kind woman she was, one who you wouldn't think would wind up in an unreachable place.

Whispers, soft as Sunday morning gossip, followed Beverly practically her entire life. About her mother's tragic life, about the 'something isn't quite right' aura her father radiated, about things she didn't have any control over. These various things grew alongside her - an annoying sibling she couldn't be rid of, no matter how hard she'd try to shake them off.

Beverly didn't have very many memories of her mother feeling something other than nothing, but there were times where she felt a little lighter, a little happier. Where she would make the most sinfully fluffy pancakes. Where she walked around barefoot, nails pearl pink, while cheerfully humming "Here Comes the Sun." Where while her father was at work, her mom would put on _their_ record. Sonny and Cher would adoringly sing about having each other, about never letting go of each other. It was the best song, the greatest song, the song that would always belong to them.

Her mother would place her on her feet, chilled from the time she spent zipping around the apartment. She would then grab Beverly's hands and gently sway them back and forth, playfully dipping them downwards to get her to laugh until her cheeks and tummy hurt.

" _But at least I'm sure of all the things we got_ ," her mother's smooth as velvet voice would sing as Beverly's fit of giggles began to die down, a promising smile on her porcelain face, a rosy tint shining on the apples of her cheeks.

And together, they'd belt as loud as they could: " _I got you, babe!"_ \- breathless, lost in a moment full of warmth and unconditional love that always made Beverly's heart swell.

Then there were her stronger memories, ones with loss that weighed down in the bottom-most pit of her stomach. Like the days she'd be late for school because her mother wouldn't leave her bed, wouldn't respond to her insistent nudges. Or the days where she wanted to play with her or show her what she'd made for her in art class, only to be met with a glossed over stare that was miles away and a meek: " _Sorry, sweetheart. Not today._ "

Being naively unaware of the sadness that the world held, Beverly didn't understand that her mother's mental health was suffering, that her head felt as if a rain cloud clung stubbornly to its folds - disorienting her, making her feel as if there was no point in trying to do anything if that was all that she would feel. Empty. Hollow. Filled with a hefty amount of lead.

Beverly wished she had known that her mother needed help, that she needed someone to see her, to be there for her, to let her know that she was loved and that she would do anything she needed.

Strangely enough, Beverly only saw her mother afraid once. She had been seven when she saw true fear, sharp and jarring, in her mother's eyes. When her pants had a spot of blood on her inner thigh. She didn't even know that they were stained with a splattering of blood, due to a cut she had gained from trying to retrieve her favorite toy ball from an untrimmed bush.

When her mother saw her come in to wash up for dinner, she had noticed nothing but the stain on her leg. It didn't matter that her arms and hands had a few minor scraps, ones that had stopped bleeding almost the moment they had begun to.

" _Bevie. Bevie, come here,_ " she had demanded, forcefully dragging her towards the bathroom.

It had been too fast for Beverly to keep up, her small feet, still in sneakers covered in yet-to-dry mud, skidding across the hallway floor.

It was really all a blur, her mother's frantic actions. Sitting her a bit too rough on the toilet seat, taking her pants off until her legs were exposed, wide gaze scanning every inch of her skin. Beverly didn't understand then, but the older she became, the more she began to realize that this was the moment her oblivion to the kind of man her father was began to evaporate.

" _Mommy?_ " she had asked her slowly, worry eating away at her stomach.

The sound of her voice, filled with quivering uncertainty, drew her mother out of her panic.

A protective hug enveloped Beverly then, the words that would change Beverly's life forever twirling its way into her ears: " _You do your best not to become a woman anytime soon, Beverly Marsh. You hear me? You stay a little girl for as long as you can."_

Her mother left them, left _her_ , a year later.

Her father had a habit of blaming her for her mother's death, that she was the one who killed her. But she didn't. Her mother had been sick, suffering from something that her husband never got her help for, something that her mother was either too proud or didn't care to ever mention. That's what got her, in the end, what led her overdose, swallowing an excessive amount pills she had no business taking followed by an entire bottle of vodka while listening to her favorite record.

Beverly was thankful that she wasn't the one who found her mom lying in the bathtub, that her dad had gone home early that day, that the authorities had finished taking care of things shortly before school had been let out for the day.

So, when Beverly's first period came in the summer of 1989, the day she saw her mother fear for her came rushing back.

_She knew what Daddy would do to me._

It made her unbelievably angry. Angry that her mother married such a brute. Angry that she wasn't here to help her through this. Angry that she had to dread going back to her apartment for the remainder of her teenage years - that her father would be lurking, waiting to step forward and scare the living shit out of her. Angry that he'd say things a father shouldn't say to his daughter, that she couldn't stop herself from trembling whenever he so much as loomed before her.

And now. . . . Now she was a woman. Now she had become what her mother had feared she would.

She hated her body for not holding on just a bit longer, for not waiting until she was able to get as far away from Derry as she could

" _Being a woman is a dangerous thing, Bevie. It'll bring you pain and misery; you'll wish to god that you'd been born a man."_

Perhaps it would have saved her from the rumors if she had a dick, that she wouldn't be called a 'slut' or have grown men look at her a bit too long as she walked down the street. Perhaps her father wouldn't make her scared to close her eyes at night, that she wouldn't have to fold into herself as she listened to his footsteps - still as a rabbit suspicious of nearing danger.

Coming home after the Quarry, happier than she'd been in months, Beverly made her way to her room, making sure not to alert her father of her presence. She didn't want the good feeling to end, one that was made of light-hearted laughter and the sweet taste of chocolate chip cookies.

She needed to write it down, to have something to look back on. She wanted to hold that day when a bad one came along, letting her know that there were days where she felt like nothing could take away the joy she had felt. And she had been planning to do that, until something fluttered to the ground when she began to pull some of her things out of her backpack.

Knowing that it hadn't come from her or anything that normally could be heard in her room, the redhead looked down. There, leaning against her bed, was a postcard. Picking it up so she could further inspect it, Beverly felt even more confusion settle in.

It had a pretty water-color painting of the Standpipe on its front, the words Historic Derry, Maine written in the top left corner. A dainty, golden sunset was in the background, making the Standpipe stand out even more, its white shading as noticeable as a coffee stain on a once perfectly pristine dress shirt.

_Where on Earth did you come from?_

The Quarry. One of her newly made friends must have put it in there.

But who?

Flipping it over, she noticed a few lines of messy yet still legible words. Carefully applied by the hands of a kid. Beverly stopped herself from reading it. Her luck, her father would walk in on her. He'd see it and immediately think that she was doing something she shouldn't, that a boy was noticing her and couldn't wait to get his hands on her.

Quietly, taking care to avoid the floorboards she knew tended to creak if you so much as looked their way, she made her way towards her bathroom, gingerly closing its door behind her. She couldn't contain her curious excitement the moment she felt safe, where her father dared not disturb her. The scrawl stared eagerly back at her - equally enthusiastic, practically bouncing off the postcard with pure giddiness.

Situating herself within the green tub that was her escape from her crummy life, Beverly finally allowed her brain to register what had been written for her. For all she knew, it meant nothing. Just a silly note to get her to laugh, or maybe some phone numbers that had been written down.

It was as her gaze shifted across the object she held above her, as if she were Indiana Jones and it an iridescent jewel, Beverly allowed the words before her to tenderly leave her lips: " _You're hair is winter fire. January embers. My heart burns there, too._ "

It wasn't a particularly amazing poem, not likely to win any awards, but Beverly didn't care. To her, it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. And when she saw that it was signed by a secret admirer, she felt as if her chest would explode.

This poem, and whoever had written it for her, made her feel like the opposite of what most of Derry's residents believed her to be. She didn't feel dirty or unwanted, like a woman who drew in unwanted attention. She felt _seen._ She felt _wanted_. She felt _loved._ It made her feel like she could touch the stars, that she was covered in sunbeams. Most importantly, she felt like a girl. A girl who felt drawn to whoever had written this for her.

 _Is it Bill? Could it really be him?_ she thought hopefully, remembering the looks of longing they'd shared over the past couple of days.

Had he finally made a move to let her know that he wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him?

As she fondly pressed the postcard against her chest, a smile stretched across her freckled face, she wished the day would never end. It was the most perfect day, a day where she was able to hang out with people who didn't think she was gross. A day where she felt like her very being was flying high above the clouds, like the yank she'd felt when she'd jumped off the cliff. A day where she felt so much love and adoration.

_If only every day could be like this._

She had been so lost in her euphoria that she almost missed a hushed voice call out her name.

" _Beverly_ ," it repeated, drawing her attention towards the dripping sink. " _Help me. Help me, please,_ " it begged, drawing her in - albeit rather hesitantly.

The voice was coming from the pipes, somewhere deep down in the ground. How could she hear them, though? Wouldn't that be impossible?

" _We all want to meet you_ ," the voice hummed.

" _Beverly,_ " hoarsely said another voice, deeper than the first.

Followed by a chorus of childish voices, far more than two: " _We all float down here._ "

It was far too eerie, far too fishy. One would say that it was all in her head, that she had imagined it. That, if she was convinced a small crowd of people were trying to talk to her, she should be admitted to Juniper Hill Asylum.

Against her better judgment, and the nagging feeling in her stomach that she needed to leave the bathroom and not return until morning, Beverly slowly leaned towards the sink. She eyed it as if it would prevent whatever she couldn't see from springing up at her. "Hello?" she warily called out. "Who are you?"

" _I'm Veronica,_ " answered the first voice.

" _Betty Ripsom,_ " said another.

" _Patrick Hockstetter,_ " replied a third.

Two of the names given sparked something in the redhead's mind. They were some of the missing kids, the ones who had disappeared without a trace.

A face, angled and mousy, came back to Beverly first. A girl with dark curls who would timidly smile at her whenever they shared the same class at school.

_Betty._

And then, a bit more faintly, a tiny girl with an unruly braid nearly running into Beverly as she skipped down the sidewalk, innocently singing "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider."

_Veronica._

Most unpleasantly, a lanky boy who sent her creepy grins and called her a 'whore' if they ran into each other before crudely gesturing with his hands exactly what he thought of her.

_Patrick._

Why were they talking to her? Shouldn't they be trying to find a way out of the sewers? Against all reason, Beverly assumed that they had come across her family's pipes, had hoped to reach out to someone who could tell the police where they were.

But that still didn't get rid of the unsettling feeling that was slowly stretching itself across her nervous system, nor the puzzlement she felt during the exchange.

" _Come closer,"_ Veronica invited.

" _Wanna see?_ " excitedly asked Betty.

" _We float._ "

" _We chaannnggeee_ ," added Patrick, his voice gurgling like water from a bathtub once the plug had been pulled, a round of spine-chilling giggles responding to this.

She knew what she was about to do could be considered reckless, but she couldn't ignore her need to know if non-stop medication and padded rooms were in her future.

_I'm not my mom. She was sick. She needed help. I'm not like her._

She repeated this to herself as she silently made her way towards the living room, towards the blue glow of the television and her father who was passed out on the couch while a creaky, brass fan attempted to keep him cool in the summer heat.

After grabbing a metal tape measure from his tool bag, Beverly returned to the room she'd just left, determined to figure out what was going on.

Slowly, with delicate precision, Beverly gradually fed the yellow tape down the drain.

_Two feet._

Like a hungry, bottomless pit, it continued to greedily swallow the object it had been given.

_Twenty feet._

Faster and faster it went, causing Beverly to stare in disbelief as it kept going and going and going.

_Forty feet._

_One-hundred feet._

_Three-hundred feet._

_Not possible. Not possible. Not possible._

When she reached the end of the measuring tape, she could feel the bottom of it catch something, like a fish calmly latching on to a hook.

There were more giggles, sinister and challenging.

 _Go on_ , they seemed to say. _Pull it back up_.

Taking in a bit of air, the scent of poorly imitated lavender and cheap bars of soap filling her nasal cavity, Beverly began to pull the slightly heavier tape back up - whatever she'd caught dragging. A flash of what looked to be a rich brown was the first thing she saw, but that soon became a sickening scarlet.

_Blood._

It was blood. Had she killed a bug? If so, would she be greeted with a gutted body, convulsing as its life came to an end?

But it wasn't a body that thickly hung from the metal bit. It was hair. _Her_ hair, the locks having been furiously cut from her head the previous evening when she couldn't think of any other way to express how much she despised her father.

Where was the blood from, then?

It. . . couldn't be from her hair. There was no way. Hair didn't bleed, and its color didn't seep out of it unless it had been dyed.

A thin thing _screeched_ its way around her wrist, yanking her. It continued to wrap itself around her palm, her fingers – slithering its way across her skin.

She squealed as she felt its thickness press into her hand, inching its way up her arm before another shot out and took her other hand.

Whatever it was, some unseen creature, shoved her arms apart before even more grabbed hold of her neck, her head, her waist, her legs; and pulled her towards the sink, the pressure digging into her flesh. It felt as if it wanted to carve into her, to suck her dry, to keep growing inside of her until she was entirely made up of bloody, filthy hair.

This couldn't be the missing kids doing this. No. It was something far darker, far craftier. And it was trying to pull her down the pipes.

Beverly couldn't stop the frantic screams from erupting from her lips, a wave of pure terror consuming her. It was going to squeeze her in there. It was going to kill her. She didn't want to die, and she especially didn't want to find out what was waiting for her at the very bottom.

" _Daddy!_ " she shrieked at the top of her lungs, voice grating into rawness. " _Daddy! Help!_ "

_I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die._

Just as soon as she had managed to say something, to not let it be the only noise she could find in herself to make, the dark tendrils stopped. Beverly watched as a thick, ruby liquid began to bubble inches away from her nose.

_No! Not more blood!_

As she released another bone-chilling shriek, an eruption of hot stickiness hit Beverly full-force. She could feel it pooling around her, could taste its salty iron as it entered her gaping mouth, could hear it splashing in every direction.

Her entire world was covered in red, trapped in a sea beneath a sky that was all one horrid hue, dizzying and directionless. Unforgiving, never stopping.

_Stay a little girl for as long as you can. As long as you can. Long as you can. As. You. Can._

Beverly felt her body become weightless, the tightness that had managed to grab her fleeing, arms waving wildly as she fell hard onto the ground.

It was raining blood, drizzling in goops as it covered the walls, the ceiling, the floor, even the towels. A whimpering sob rattled its way up her throat as she watched this all unfold, its wetness pittering and pattering all that it could reach. Afraid to look away from the gushing blood, she desperately crawled backwards, her feet slipping against the now saturated tile until she felt her back _thump_ against something solid.

It kept coming, and coming, and coming, and coming. To the point where Beverly was certain she'd drown, that she would be suspended for eternity in a never-ending immensity.

Among the fear and the panic and the hopelessness, she could have sworn for a fleeting moment that she heard her mother's voice soothingly sing beside her: _"I got you, I won't let go._ "

She closed her eyes tight until they stung, plowing through her fright for _their_ song.

 _"I got you to love me so_ ," she heard her seven-year-old self sing in return, completely off pitch.

 _I got you, babe,_ her heart sang. _I got you, babe._

Over and over again until she could no longer hear swelling wetness or feel droplets that had flung in her direction. She felt unbearably small as her body began to tremble relentlessly, letting loose a strangled moan as she nervously took in her surroundings.

"The hell's going on?"

Standing in the doorway, peering down at her cowered form, was her father. Looking at her as if she had lost her mind. As if he couldn't bring himself to care that she was drenched in gore.

"The. . . the sink," she erratically told him. "And the blood. . . . It's -"

"What blood?"

Her breath caught in her throat. He. . . he had to be joking. There was no way he couldn't see it, bubbling on the bristles of their toothbrushes and how it had saturated the shower curtain.

"The sink?" When that still failed to draw a response from him other than bewilderment, it was then that it hit her: "You don't see it?"

His hawkish gaze never left her as he slowly made his way towards her as if she were a wounded animal that could flee at any given moment.

"There was blood," she continued to babble out, desperate to get him to see the living nightmare they were in the middle of. "And. . . and. . . and -"

She watched, pressing herself even deeper into the wall, as her father crouched before her - looking at her as if she didn't know what was real and what was fiction. It looked as if he _pitied_ her. Beverly didn't want his pity. She wanted him to believe her.

"You worry me, Bevie," he said. "You worry me a lot."

"But don't you see?" she asked, sounding very much like a toddler who was convinced that the Bogeyman was hiding under their closet.

Reaching out a hand, almost as if to brush her cheek and tell her that she should get some rest, her father gripped a lock of her recently cut hair between his fingers. "Why'd you do this to your hair?" There was disappointment now in his stone-hard eyes, whatever concern he had about her safety gone. With a tone so even that she wished he'd go back to pitying her, he said, "Makes you look like a boy."

With hurt and a feeling of despair clawing within her, Beverly watched as he let her be, his boots _sloshing_ on the way out. It was only when his presence was long gone that the rest of her negative emotions began to spill out.

Her lips trembled, tears trickling down her damp cheeks, while a round of silent cries filled the buzzing silence. The thought of what had taken place having only been her imagination scared her more than what she believed she'd experienced.

_I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy._

But even that wasn't enough to ease her troubled mind. Not even songs from her childhood could chase away all the bad that had occurred.

As she sat among puddles of blood, Beverly's reality froze her in a time she wished would end. A place where she had no chance in hell of escaping. Forever and always. . . alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I didn't realize that Beverly's mom had died giving birth to her in Chapter Two. However, I know that she's alive in the book, so that was the main deciding point on which direction to take. I also thought it would be interesting to explore Beverly's relationship with her mom, which I know I'll be doing again in future chapters.
> 
> I'm in the process of writing the next chapter, so hopefully I'll have that out soon. I also came up with a possible idea for the "interlude," though I'm not 100% certain if I'll use it.
> 
> Until next time, see you later :)


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